


The Rain on the Fire

by KindreTurnany



Series: Watchtower [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Gladiators, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Self-Harm, Steter Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindreTurnany/pseuds/KindreTurnany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Watchtower’s former leaders start acting up, Stiles and Derek return by choice to regain control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning for self harm in the first chapter. See end notes for brief description.  
> The title for this story comes from “Momentum” by The Hush Sound.  
> Beta’d by Chiomi! All remaining mistakes are my own, in some cases because she told me what was correct, but I said, “No!” in exactly the voice a petulant child would.

Stiles woke screaming and restrained. His feet kicked wildly but found no purchase against the mattress and bedding. With one hand, he clawed at the arm pulled solidly against his chest, and with the opposite arm he jabbed an elbow backward. His attacker released Stiles with a grunt. Stiles twisted his body to slide one arm under his pillow for the switchblade hidden there. He had the blade open almost before it was out from under the pillow. He turned, gripping it, ready for another attack to find only a placating hand, raised several feet back from the bed, the distance gained while Stiles armed himself. Stiles focused on the man behind the hand and recognized his father. A trail a sweat slid over his temple as Stiles watched.

               Not an attacker. His father.

               Stiles dropped the blade, narrowly missing his own foot. He’d almost gutted his father. Stiles gasped, mouth gaping, trying to pull in air and catching only the barest tendrils. Derek was supposed to wake him from a nightmare. Derek was strong enough to restrain Stiles, patient enough to wait out his panic. Derek trembled now if Stiles accidentally brushed a hand across his arm reaching for the ketchup. Derek wasn’t here now.

               With a strangled mix of a sigh and a gasp, the sheriff dropped his hands and stepped forward. “Stiles,” he said. “It’s okay, Stiles. It’s me. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

               Stiles nodded. It wasn’t _his_ safety he was worried about. He’d have to lock his door, keep his father out. What if Stiles had been faster? If he’d already been clutching the knife? He needed to sleep when his father was at work. Being the sheriff was a full-time job and then some. Stiles barely maintained a regular sleep schedule anyway. This might actually be easier.

               “I’m sorry, Stiles. I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re safe. It’s just me.” His voice stayed soft, the voice you’d use to calm a frightened animal, a wolf with its leg caught in a trap. Tranquilizers would serve the wolf better, stop it from biting through its own leg or the hand of the person trying to free it.

               The room was dark, lit only by the hall light Stiles’ father must have turned on before entering his son’s room. The streetlight out front was broken, the bulb smashed out in a fit of rage after a night of carefully not touching Derek or looking at him too hard. No light came in that way. Stiles’ father stood almost silhouetted with just enough ambient light to make out his still-wide eyes and eyebrows raised in worry.

               “You’re safe, Stiles.” He kept saying that. Why did he keep saying that?

               Stiles pulled in air in tiny gasps. His fists clenched the sheets around him, desperate not to touch the knife again, not to point it at his own father. His eyes, wider even than his father’s, darted from window to open doorway. Escapes, both useless. The sheets had shifted as he tensed and grabbed them, pulled the switchblade back toward the foot it barely missed before. He needed to close it before it cut something, but when Stiles reached for it, his hands shook. He sliced his foot trying to protect it.

               _Oh,_ Stiles realized, _I’m still having a panic attack._

Two hands wrapped gently, but firmly, around the hand he still clutched the switchblade in. Stiles nearly screamed again and slashed out with it, but he couldn’t get the air. He had to breathe to fight. He had to fight to breathe.

               “It’s okay, Stiles. Let go. You’re safe now. Just let go.”

               Stiles didn’t so much let go as suffer a muscle spasm in his hand. It worked about the same. His father took the blade away before he could do any more damage. He closed it and tossed it into the hall. Automatically, Stiles made a mental note that there was a weapon in the hall; he could grab it as he passed.

               “Do you know where you are?”

               That was different from before. A question. Stiles couldn’t answer a question if he couldn’t breathe. But he was breathing now, in deep gulps. There had been something. A nightmare.

               “Stiles, do you know where you are?”

               “Home. My room.” His throat constricted around the words. He was safe. Safe-ish.

               “Do you know who I am?”

               “Of course I—”

               “Just answer the question.”

               “Dad.”

               His father sighed in relief and ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I’ll be more careful next time.”

               Stiles twitched his shoulders. He’d had nightmares sometimes before and woken to his father holding him. It had been fine. He hadn’t kept weapons under his pillow before. “Next time,” Stiles said bitterly, “Stay outside the room and pound on the door until I stop trying to kill you.”

               “You didn’t—”

               “I really did.”

               “Well, you didn’t mean to.”

               “Oh, yes, sorry, Judge, I murdered my father on accident. It’s okay because I _didn’t mean to.”_ Stiles sneered. “One minute I was sleeping, and the next his intestines were just spilling over my hand.”

               “Stiles,” his father warned.

               Stiles scrubbed his hands through his hair and tried to think of a way to take it back. “Sorry,” he muttered.

               “Do you want to talk about it?”

               “What?”

               “The nightmare, genius.”

               Stiles shook his head. “I don’t remember it.” He could almost feel it, like a word on the tip of his tongue or an afterimage from staring too long at the sun.

               “Any chance you’ll get back to sleep?”

               “Not a hope in hell.”

               His dad nodded. “Me neither. Let’s take care of that foot.”

               Stiles tried not to look dangerous while his dad bandaged his foot. He got the feeling his father was doing the same.

**~.x.~**

Stiles wiggled his foot a little, wincing at the pain. It was healing so slowly. It would have been better by now back when he’d been bonded to Derek, not fully closed maybe, but less painful anyway. He was working on a way to heal faster, but there was only so much he could do with Derek unwilling to bond again.

               Lydia snapped her fingers about an inch from his nose. “Stiles, are you even listening?”

               “Um.” He considered lying, but Lydia was the type to make him prove it. “Sorry.”

               She sighed. Allison leveled a look at Stiles over Lydia’s shoulder that would have sent wiser men running. The three of them were arranged on Lydia’s bed because _someone_ whose first name rhymed with ‘cot’ and whose last name rhymed with ‘all’ thought Stiles spent all his time either holed up alone in his room or bothering Derek. Just because it was true didn’t mean they had the right to make him stop.

               “I’m just... not going to college, so I don’t have much to say.”

               “Why not? You got your GED.” Lydia raised her eyebrows like fucking college was a reasonable plan for Stiles.

               “It’s not like you have to decide right away,” Allison said, this time with a more subtle look for Lydia. “We’re talking about next year or the year after. Scott’s not willing to transfer to a university out of Beacon Hills until he knows someone is protecting the town, and that’s _if_ we decide to leave at all.”

               “And if we can agree on where to go,” Lydia added. “We have some pretty variable academic preferences.”

               “Which is why we’re looking at larger cities with multiple universities.” Allison worded it to fit with Lydia’s sentence but her tone sounded more like a reminder or correction. Stiles got the feeling they’d covered all of this while he spaced out.

               “Wouldn’t they have established packs too? Do they get territorial?” Stiles asked.

               Allison said, “Derek says it’s normal for packs to coexist. They just have to agree on terms at the outset instead of waiting until one side angers the other.”

               “Oh, you talked to Derek too.”

               “Yes.”

               Stiles bit his lip. He wanted to say something cruel because apparently Derek talked to them freely but mostly stared at Stiles without saying a word unless it was at his expense.

               Lydia pointed a finger at Stiles. “He dropped out too you know. Maybe he could finish too.”

               Stiles scowled. “I didn’t _drop out._ I was kidnapped, tortured, and forced to kill to survive. Not much time for classes between gladiatorial bouts.” Actually there was plenty of time for classes, but he’d been kept in a cell instead. “Besides, do you remember what happened last time I went to the _mall,_ which everyone assured me would be a lot less stressful than trying to finish high school was and is certainly less stressful than college would be?”

               The girls winced at that. He’d had a panic attack, then tried to attack the mall security guy when he asked if he could help. Scott had been there to hold him back, at least, but Stiles was politely asked not to come back until he’d gotten help. Lots of help.

               “You could take online classes,” Lydia offered.

               Stiles ground his teeth.

               “When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

               Stiles narrowed his eyes. Allison couldn’t just change the topic and think he’d forget what they were trying to get from him.

               “I wanted to be a cop like my dad.”

               “Do you still want that?”

               “No.”

               “Why not?”

               “Well, I’m a criminal, for one. Just because I’m not convicted of anything doesn’t mean I haven’t broken the law.”

               “You were a criminal before. It didn’t bother you then.”

               “And even if it went to court, you wouldn’t be convicted. You know that,” Lydia said while Allison nodded in agreement.

               “Ah, yes, the good old self-defense claim.”

               “Stiles.” Allison was giving him the stern look people did when they said his name and meant it for admonishment instead of getting his attention.

               “I don’t like school,” Stiles snapped, tired of their games. “I don’t like discipline. I don’t like people. I don’t like tests. I don’t like going places or doing things. If you hadn’t dragged me over here right now, I would probably be sitting in the dark in my bedroom doing nothing at all. That sounds like a good day to me. Maybe I’d look up some bullshit online or visit Derek. At most.” Honestly, how bad of a self-pity party would it take to drive these two off?

               “We know.” Lydia raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips to make it clear Stiles idea of a good day was a very bad idea of a good day.

               “And you don’t need me to go with you to leave town for college. I’ve still got my dad.” And Peter, and probably Derek because, honestly, Stiles couldn’t see Derek going away to _school._ “We could probably watch the town for you anyway. He’s literally the sheriff, and what are the odds of Beacon Hills never actually having a break?”

               “Damn high,” Allison said, no hesitation. “It’s literally a beacon drawing the supernatural here.”

               “Not all of them are evil.”

               “Not all of them are good,” she countered.

               “The only reason you don’t know about the monsters coming through town,” Lydia added, “is that we don’t tell you anymore.”

               Stiles’ right eye started twitching. It did that sometimes.

               “We told you about the nemeton.” Some dumb magic tree that was probably a little evil. “Did we tell you what we did to stop the darach using it?” Stiles would have answered Allison, really, but he was trying to remember if ‘darach’ referred to the alpha pack leader or the evil druid. He thought the wolf called himself the Demon Wolf (maybe in all caps instead of just initial ones), so that left the serial killing evil magic lady who his father had tried to arrest.

               Lydia snapped in front of his face again. “Stiles, pay attention for once.”

               He sneered. “Scott said you did some weird ritual to find the tree so you could save your parents, who the darach had kidnapped for sacrifices.” Their parents, Melissa McCall, Chris Argent, and Natalie Martin, most of whom had already known about the supernatural.

               “It was more than a ritual. We killed ourselves. Drowned ourselves in tubs of ice water to take our parents’ place as sacrifices, and we almost didn’t make it back.” Lydia seemed a little peeved Stiles didn’t care more about the time she died. He was pretty sure she’d been nearly strangled by the darach too, unless he was mixing up his bad guys again.

               “We gave the nemeton power again,” Allison continued for her. “Real power, not the trickle it’d been getting from the darach. And it left a mark in us too, a darkness around our hearts. Maybe it’s not the same as yours, but we still feel it, all of us, every day.”

               Oh, god, he’d gotten in trouble with Allison by ignoring everyone else’s problems and focusing on his own obnoxious angst. Again. He opened his mouth, shut it, and the girls looked at him like that had been the right decision.

               “So,” Allison said in the tone of one starting anew, “If you don’t want to be a cop anymore, what _do_ you want now?”

               Stiles shrugged.

               Lydia arched an eyebrow. “No plans whatsoever for the rest of your entire life? Not even anything as simple as getting Scott to watch Star Wars?”

               Stiles bit his lip, mentally told his hands to sit fucking still, and shrugged again. “I like staying not dead, I guess.”

               “What about Derek? You’re still hoping to win him back, right?”

               Stiles nodded.

               “So Derek’s Boyfriend is the most you want out of life anymore?”

               Stiles tried to find the right words to explain that it wasn’t so much that he wanted nothing as that he couldn’t have anything anymore. His friends believed all he needed to do was decide to be normal again, and it would happen. But it wasn’t that simple. Watchtower would come for him again. Maybe they’d even look like a friend when they did it. Maybe they’d look like Cat or Setter or Gregson, all of whom Stiles actually thought he could trust, though not as far as he would trust pack. Cat was pack now. He could trust her, at least.

               “There is something I want,” Stiles said, feeling the grin spread. It had been a mask once. “I want to be the man who burns Watchtower to the ground.”

               “And after that?” Allison brushed aside his strongest goal like dust. “Who do you want to be then?”

               Stiles shook his head. “All I want to be is fire. When I’m done burning them, I’ll find someone new.” Maybe that explained why he was so bad for a man who’d lost his family and his life to fire.

               Allison shook her head while Lydia frowned. Stiles laughed. He tried to hold it back for his friends’ sakes, but like the grin, it wasn’t a mask anymore. He couldn’t turn it on and off at will. It only made him laugh harder.

**~.x.~**

Even with multiple visits under his belt, Stiles had to take a breath and steel himself to enter Trick’s tattoo parlor, uncreatively called Trick’s Ink Treats. There were just so many needles. The idea of all those needles was worse than the reality, but still he paused with his hand on the door. Through the glass he saw Trick inside, rolling their eyes and shaking their head hard enough to bounce their mop of sea green curls. Trick didn’t think much more of Stiles’ nervousness than they had about his attitude toward the spade they’d inked onto his face. By the time Stiles opened the door and walked inside, Trick had schooled their face to stillness.

               Trick waved to the chair. “Sit whenever your nerves have settled but not before. I don’t need you jumping around like last time.”

               “I didn’t jump.”

               “And don’t pout.” Trick scoffed. “Magic is stronger if you stay focused.”

               “I’m not pouting,” Stiles muttered under his breath. By the eyebrow Trick raised, he guessed they’d heard him anyway.

               He shrugged out of his jacket but took his time about it. Eventually, after getting used to his talisman, Stiles had returned for another tattoo, something to replace the healing he’d lost when he broke his bond with Derek. He’d tried to be subtle, asking vague questions and offering vaguer answers, until Trick physically shoved him into a chair and explained exactly how his first tattoo worked to prove they knew what he was after and could help if he’d just admit it. Several of Trick’s tattoos had protective powers too because, as they put it, “Humans don’t stand a chance in this fucking town without some goddamn supernatural help.” Trick had been planting protective charms into ink for local humans for years to defend them, but nothing as powerful as Stiles’ talisman. Apparently the power for that came from Stiles.

               “Shirt too if you want to finish this thing,” Trick called from behind the counter where they’d settled down with a soda. It always took Stiles a while to get ready to be stabbed repeatedly, even when the blades were very tiny and used to transfer ink.

               He flipped Trick off and pulled his shirt over his head.

               “Good. Now study the ink. You need to imagine it closing as I work.”

               “Wow, I wouldn’t have remembered that if you hadn’t said anything.”

               “I know.”

               Stiles scowled. He knew exactly what he needed to do today, had been preparing for it since he first returned to Trick’s shop. Stiles stepped in front of the mirror and studied his in-progress tattoo, his new talisman. It was a diamond, or the negative space of one outlined by the patterned ink of a watercolor nebula. The lowest point was at his left hip, and the shapes’ edge, hard on the inside but flowing unevenly away on the outside stretched across his torso to another point over the ribs on his right side. It was mirrored on his back, with both of those points reaching upward to the final, unfinished point that would be on the left side of his neck. It had the effect of a flat diamond shoved over his body from the left side to wrap over his torso. At first, he hadn’t been sure when Trick told him how large an effective healing talisman would have to be, but he’d felt the power seeping in as they worked and almost worried now that they’d made it too small.

               “Ready yet?” Trick sipped their soda noisily through a straw Stiles was sure hadn’t been there a moment ago.

               “Yes, fuck, keep your shirt on.”

               “Well, duh, you’re the only one here who needs their shirt off.” Trick furrowed their eyebrows like that was only obvious before falling into a wide grin. “Come and sit already. It’s time to finish this.”

               Stiles took his place while Trick prepped. He closed his eyes long before anything remotely needle-like touched his skin and thought healing thoughts. Trick snorted loudly enough for Stiles to hear, but he felt, through the tattoo, the power of their intent aligning with his.

               “Try not to twitch so much every time I touch your neck.”

               “Fuck you, I’m not—”

               “And don’t talk. It’ll make me miss.”

               Stiles scowled, but Trick ignored him.

               “Focus, Stiles.”

               At that, Stiles scowled harder. _They_ had been the one to distract him in the first place. He focused again on the talisman, on it healing his future injuries. Without realizing it, Stiles had relied heavily on the improved healing he gained through his bonds with Peter and Derek. From now on, the healing would be of his own power, gained through this new talisman. If it came to fighting and torture again—and in his experience it always came to fighting and torture—Stiles would be prepared to endure, survive, and overcome whatever the Watchtower or anyone else could throw at him. Stiles only realized he’d adopted a twisted grin after Trick stopped glancing at his face.

**~.x.~**

Stiles had the house to himself. His father had insisted on sharing guard duty over Haha, No even though he worked full-time and overtime to protect the citizens of Beacon Hills. For once, it worked to Stiles’ advantage since he needed to test a mostly-healed magical healing tattoo. Trick told him it should have limited power on itself, but it seemed to be healing as quickly as his old tattoo had. He took one of his knives and the first aid kit to the bathroom. If this went wrong, he wanted cleanup to be easy. He stripped down to his boxers for the same reason. Then simple paranoia pushed him to lock the door.

               The cut on his foot was healed over completely. He could almost think he’d imagined it during his panic attack if walking hadn’t been a pain in the ass—foot?—for days afterward. It was the only recent wound he had other than the tattoo itself. He wanted to test the talisman with something newer, to make sure it worked and determine its limits, within reason.

               After setting some cotton swabs, bandages, and antiseptic on the counter where he could reach it, Stiles sat on the closed toilet lid and propped one foot up on the opposite knee. He set the knife against the skin of his ankle and pressed a shallow cut into the skin. Then he watched it, unsure how long healing should take. He tried to think healing thoughts, imagined the wound closing and disappearing.

               Maybe the healing only cut a few days off the process. That’s how his old power had worked, roughly. Usually. He thought. Or maybe the talisman would only work on deeper wounds. Stiles hesitated, watching the shallow cut in case it healed soon enough to stop him. It didn’t, so he ran the knife through his leg an inch higher and much deeper. This time, he grabbed a handful of cotton swabs right away and slammed them against his leg to stem the bleeding. He thought pressure was supposed to relieve pain too. So far as he could tell, it didn’t.

               “Fucking idiot,” Stiles muttered to himself, grabbing the antiseptic from the counter so he could wash the gash he’s just made in his leg.

               The bleeding had slowed, so Stiles didn’t rush to bandage himself, secretly hoping the wound would heal if he waited just a few seconds longer. The first cut looked the same still. Stiles cleaned it. At least the pain had subsided. Stiles wiggled his foot and flinched. The pain returned when the cuts were stretched. He grabbed at his cotton balls to stem the fresh flow of blood before realizing there wasn’t one.

               Stiles pinched the skin on either side of the deeper cut to push blood out. It hurt but didn’t bleed. Stiles grinned. He couldn’t tell how long it would take to heal fully, but the talisman was having _some_  effect only moments after he’d been injured.

               The front door shut. Stiles hadn’t heard it open. “Stiles,” his father called up, “you hungry?”

               “Shit.” Stiles scrambled for bandages, threw the bloodied cotton balls into the trash and shoved fresh toilet paper over them, hoping his father wouldn’t notice. He practically leapt into his clothes and flushed the toilet to create an excuse for sitting in the restroom instead of greeting his father. He washed his hands before opening the door.

               “There you are,” his father said with a smile after Stiles opened the door. He made his way down the hall to stand by Stiles as he exited the restroom. “I convinced Isaac to relieve me a little early tonight so we could go out to dinner. There’s a new steakhouse—”

               “Salad.”

               “What?”

               “If we go to a steakhouse _,_ old man, you will eat salad.”

               His dad scowled. “Just because you think you’re looking out for my health doesn’t mean you get to take all the good things out of life. And for the record, _I’m_ the one who should be looking after _your_ health. Not the other way around.”

               Stiles paused, thinking. “Steak salad?”

               “But it’s still so leafy...”

               “Side salad.”

               “Salad’s not the healthiest food on the planet you know.”

               “You’re right. Most steakhouses have hamburgers. Do you think they have veggie burgers?”

               “I’ll get the side salad.”

               Stiles grinned, and it shouldn’t have felt strange for having been honest and happy.

**~.x.~**

Derek wore a grey sweater with thumb sleeves. Something about the cloth stretching over his hands and his thumbs poking through the holes made Stiles want to hold Derek and tell him everything would be alright. It made him vulnerable and young. Derek rubbed his hands against his legs, and the cloth of his thumb sleeves covered his palms like he was hiding them, like his hands were afraid of Stiles. Derek picked up the remote from the couch cushion beside him and pressed the pause button with his sleeved thumb. The movie paused, and everyone looked to Derek. They—Scott’s McCall’s pack—were arrayed about Derek’s loft to watch a movie because Scott had decided spending time together without almost dying would help them bond. Stiles thought mortal peril made for great bonding.

               “What’s wrong?” Scott asked, instantly concerned, voice soft for Derek like he believed the thumb-sleeve vulnerability even though Derek was still an alpha.

               Derek hesitated, eyes darting.

               “You wouldn’t have paused the entire movie if you didn’t want us to know,” Lydia said matter-of-factly.

               “He’s not watching.” Derek didn’t have to say who he meant. Every eye turned on Stiles, and he wished suddenly Peter counted as part of Scott’s pack so he’d have someone there to take his side.

               “Of course I am.”

               “Stiles,” Scott said, and his tone made it a warning.

               “What? I’m watching.” Half watching, half falling asleep while watching Derek’s hands. It still counted as watching.

               “He keeps looking at me instead.” Derek didn’t look at Stiles, didn’t even speak to him.

               “If you want me to stop, then just say so,” Stiles spat. “But don’t try to act like I can’t hear you, like I’m not part of the group you’re announcing my actions to while you refuse to acknowledge me directly.”

               Derek hunched forward in his seat, rubbing the fabric over one sleeved hand with the other. His eyes slid across the floor until they reached Stiles’ feet and stopped. “I don’t. I just lost track of the movie. I’m not sure where the little green thing came from.” He let go of his hand to grab the remote again and rewind to before Luke reached Dagobah.

               Stiles sputtered. “Li-little green thing? That’s Jedi Grand fucking Master Yoda, not some little green thing. He’s one of the most—”

               Derek snorted softly and rubbed a hand against the side of his leg.

               “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” Stiles said, deadpan.

               Instead of answering, Derek hit play.

               Lydia leaned closer to Derek to whisper to him. Stiles wasn’t sure if she underestimated his hearing or wanted him to overhear her tell Derek, “Maybe if you don’t want to date him, you also shouldn’t flirt with him.”

               “He deserves _someone_ giving him shit,” Derek answered in a normal voice as he set the remote aside. His eyes never left the screen.

               Stiles tried to enjoy the movie, or at least enjoy Scott’s reactions to it since this was his first time watching. It wasn’t as fun as he would have imagined it, but he thought that was something to do with him, not the movie or his friends. He kept catching himself almost scratching the still-healing cuts on his ankle or nearly falling asleep only to jerk awake and try to scratch the tattoo instead. His phone vibrated, but when he reached for it, Scott caught his arm and gave him a warning look. No phones allowed during movie night. Stiles rolled his eyes.

               His phone vibrated again. Scott gave him a look that translated roughly to, “If you answer that phone, I swear I’ll tell them all about that time you peed in the pool when we were four.”

               The phone vibrated. It continued going off until it finally turned into the continuous vibration of a phone call. “Scotty, I don’t think they’re going to stop.”

               “You could turn it off.”

               “How many people outside of this room even have my phone number? I don’t have other friends. It’s probably important.”

               “But it’s movie night.” He looked like a kicked puppy. Only Scott could give a murderer puppy dog eyes and have them _work._

               Derek intervened with a sigh. “Just let him answer his phone.”

               Scott threw up his hands in defeat just as Stiles’ phone stopped. He pulled it out anyway to find eighteen texts and a missed call from Gregson. When she called again, he answered.

               “Why do I have sixteen texts consisting entirely of the word ‘sir’?”

               “Because you didn’t answer the first two that said I needed to speak with you, sir.” Gregson sounded calm for someone blowing up his phone as she had been.

               “Of course.”

               “The board is meeting. In secret. They couldn’t authorize anything without Smiler, who wouldn’t go to them behind your back, so they’re on their way here and prepared to claim he knew nothing if someone tells you and No about it.”

               “What the hell do they want?”

               “Not to die would be my guess. They’re none too happy with your orders that they enter the arena.”

               “Didn’t No disband the board until they proved themselves or something?” Stiles groaned. He’d asked Gregson to keep him up-to-date on Watchtower’s goings-on, but mostly it was a pile of werebullshit.

               “That’s why they need Smiler. He and Nike won their first match, so No granted them provisionary administrative authority while they figure out how much fighting it takes to prove themselves.”

               Isaac raised a hand. “Does this sound like gibberish to anyone else?”

               “At least you can hear both sides,” Danny said.

               “Stop listening in on my phone calls then,” Stiles snapped. “What are the chances of the board accomplishing anything? And who are the board; is that something I should know?”

               “If they reach Smiler with you and No both absent, chances are high. Everyone’s terrified of you when you’re close, but you’ve both been away a while now. And when I told you about the board, you weren’t paying attention, so sort of. Sir. One has already arrived. The others are due in by morning. Are you coming?”

               “Yes.” He hung up and turned to Scott, who stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “I need to borrow your prisoner for a field trip,” he said.

               “Are you kidding?” Scott asked. “That sounds so much like a trap that _I_ think it sounds like a trap.”

               “I’ll have my own security detail. Don’t worry.”

               Allison made her way across the room to join the others by the couch. “Fill in those of us without super hearing. What happened?”

               “A bunch of people I took power away from to begin Watchtower’s fall have a plan to take the organization’s president back to undo what I’ve done and probably kill me. I need to go stop them, and I need to take Haha, No with me because he’s got more sway with those we left behind than I do. If we present a united front, even the former board of directors will probably have no choice but to back down and tell us what a lovely place we have here.”

               “There is literally no chance of it being that easy,” Lydia said. “You said you’d have a security detail. Well, so will they. Their bodyguards will probably have orders to shoot you on sight.”

               “Kill the Joker and take his place on Watchtower’s scariest leaders list,” Cat agreed.

               Danny raised a hand. “Is everyone forgetting that I’ve almost finished decrypting those files we launched a full-out assault to steal because I feel like you’re all treating this as a serious problem Stiles has to solve when it’s not. I’ve got this. Eventually.”

               “Which is why,” Stiles said, “I’ve still got to go to _stall_ whatever they’re trying to do.” Or solve it without Danny since they couldn’t know how useful his files were since he couldn’t read most of them yet.

               “Why is it you want Gregson to defend you instead of us,” Derek asked.

               Stiles scowled. Once upon a time, Derek would have known better than to ask. Most likely, he still did but chose to ask anyway because he couldn’t be bothered to make anything easier on Stiles.

               When Scott spoke again, his voice was low and dangerous. “Answer the question, Stiles.”

               “Because when I’m with you, I like to be Stiles, but if I go there, I’m going to be Joker.” He bit off each word. He didn’t want his friends to see the monster he’d become.

               Lydia began, “Stiles, we’ve seen—”

               “No,” Allison cut her off, “I don’t think we have.” Stiles winced as she continued. “You’re not going in there defenseless except for Watchtower agents. You can’t risk taking the whole pack in case something goes wrong, but you need at least two of us to watch your back. I assume you’ll choose Peter first, so make me the second.”

               Stiles gaped. So did the others.

               “Well?” She asked.

               “Um. You don’t have—”

               “Supernatural powers? I’m a trained hunter. I can take care of myself.”

               Stiles tried to think of an argument against that but instead just came back again and again to her hunt for Derek. Allison had gone dark side before, looked into herself and found a monster waiting. She wouldn’t be afraid of Stiles. She’d come closer than any of the others to understanding him. “Okay,” he said at last.

**~.x.~**

Haha, No’s cell had been improved, though it was still in Peter’s old warehouse. He had a mattress—memory foam so there wouldn’t be any springs he could use as weapons—and bedding, a collection of clothing fashionable enough for his taste and harmless enough for the sheriff’s, a plastic tub to hold his clothes, and another plastic tub to hold books and files ranging from fairy tales to Watchtower paperwork. He was only allowed pencils to write with. Peter had even hired a contractor to run enough plumbing for a small bathroom with hanging sheets in place of walls. Metal bars still enclosed the cell, though Stiles thought it was a larger area than before. Haha, No himself lounged on the mattress in an undershirt and pinstriped slacks with a pile of papers by one hand and a pencil spinning in the other. Stiles wondered how he sharpened them.

               “I still think you could have built a real cell if we were going to this much effort,” Stiles said.

               “I don’t want him to feel like he can hide anything from us,” Scott replied.

               “That’s what cameras and mind games are for.” That’s what Haha, No had used on Stiles, anyway.

               “We’ve got those too, but this way there’s a breeze.”

               Haha, No glanced up briefly before turning back to his papers. “What’s wrong with your neck, Joker?”

               Stiles’ hand slapped over the top corner of his new talisman before he realized Haha, No could have simply been goading him. Still, he’d realized Stiles had hidden his neck instantly. Maybe it was too hot for such a high-collared jacket. Or maybe the way Stiles read Haha, No’s intent actually worked both ways.

               “We have a problem with the board.” No point in answering the question, even if Scott looked at him strangely for overreacting. “They think they can get out of their fights if they work with Smiler behind our backs.”

               “I wondered how long it would take you to work that out.”

               Stiles’ eye twitched. “If you already knew, why didn’t you tell me?”

               “I just told you I wondered how long it would take you to work out.” Haha, No set his papers and pencil aside and sat up with his legs stretching off the mattress in front of him and his feet against the floor.

               “Then do you have a plan?”

               “Of course.”

               Stiles waited for him to share. “Well?”

               “First, I have a package for you. I think they set it over there.” He motioned to a folding table the pack sometimes used to play cards or arm wrestle on when they got bored with guard duty.

               “No, plan first.”

               “It’s part of the plan, idiot.”

               Stiles raised his hands but clenched them uselessly in front of him because he couldn’t strangle Haha, No. He stalked to the table and found a red leather jacket spread over it. “This?” He raised it up and noticed the image of a jester’s hat tooled into the leather on the shoulder. On the other shoulder was Watchtower’s rook.

               “Yes, that. Apparently it has too many metal buttons and accents to be allowed near me, so I don’t even know if it was made properly.”

               “What the fuck does a jacket have to do with anything?”

               “You’re in command now. I need you to look the part.”

               “For?”

               “We’re going to go intimidate everyone again. It’ll be fun.”

               “That’s your plan? Show up in my pretty new jacket and hope everyone still thinks I’m scary?”

               Haha, No raised an eyebrow. It was the eyebrow he used when feeling particularly judgy. “Was your plan any better?”

               “Um, no. Except for the jacket, my plan was that exactly. I’d actually sort of hoped you’d have an idea. I called Peter. Maybe he’ll think of something by the time he gets here.” Stiles fidgeted with the jacket. “Besides, isn’t Smiler’s face supposed to keep people scared of us? What exactly would I be able to do that scares them better than just looking at him will?”

               “Don’t forget Wight’s face too.”

               Stiles winced.

               “No matter.” Haha, No dismissed the faces Stiles had ruined with a wave of his hand. “Check the jacket. It should have partial Kevlar lining, though not in the joints because you need flexibility. The sleeves are designed so you can conceal knives without making your hoodie bunch obviously over them like it is now, and there’s a sheath sewn into the back just below the collar so you can keep one there as well. There is supposed to be a light protection charm, more of a luck charm to keep you from being hit than anything else, but Deaton wouldn’t tell me if it was present. His exact words were, ‘It won’t harm Stiles if he decides to wear it,’ and he said them to the Sheriff.”

               Stiles studied the coat. After two talismans, he thought he should have at least a feel for magic, but he detected nothing.

               “Deaton says the luck charm is there,” Scott said, sliding his phone into his pocket. “He also says the jacket is safe.”

               “That doesn’t mean I want to wear it.” Stiles held the thing at arm’s length. He didn’t want gifts from his arch nemesis.

               Scott looked oddly relieved at that.

               The warehouse door opened and closed behind them, and Stiles glanced back to see Allison and Peter walking toward him, talking like they weren’t sort-of-mortal enemies. Stiles hoped they were planning.

               “Because it could shortly be relevant to my survival,” Haha, No said, drawing Stiles gaze back toward the cell where he’d moved to lean against the bars. “What’s the new talisman do? Is it as fun as the other?”

               “It does nothing for you.”

               “Talisman?” Scott asked. “What talisman? Does he mean the tattoo? Is it magic like the other one?”

               Stiles granted Scott a flat stare. “It’s a healing talisman. It heals only me, and it’s still less effective than your healing.”

               “Oh, so you’ve tested it.” Haha, No grinned. “Can I see?”

               Stiles narrowed his eyes and made a face at Haha, No. “No.”

               “Yes, I am No.”

               “I meant, No, fucko, you can’t see.”

               “No knows.”

               “Oh, God, I hate you.” Stiles ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

               “Stiles, stop letting him bait you,” Allison said. “We need to talk.” Stiles tried to argue that he wasn’t letting Haha, No do anything to him, but she spoke over him. “We think you should bond Cat.”

               “What? No. That’s dumb.” Stiles tried to convey its dumbness with his face, but by Peter’s expression he mostly just made _himself_ look dumb.

               “You can benefit a lot from a bond with a werewolf, and it would allow Cat to track you down when this inevitably goes horribly wrong,” Peter pointed out.

               “There’s a lot more involved in magical soulbonds than convenience, okay.”

               “Is there?” Peter asked. “Because as I recall, we were bonded in a moment when you believed I was going to kill you, had as good as killed Lydia, and would probably very shortly kill the rest of your friends.”

               “I don’t claim to understand _what_ more there is than convenience.”

               Allison shook her head. “Stiles, you’re essentially going in there defenseless.”

               “No,” Stiles growled. “I’m going in there with a hell of a lot more defenses than I’ve ever had before. I’ll have a hunter and a werewolf, a stunning talisman, a healing talisman, an enchanted leather Kevlar jacket piece of shit, _my_ squad of soldiers, _my_ pair of Princes, every bit of training I’ve had from you and experience from the arena, and I’ll be holding the guy supposedly in charge by his neck, all on top of the defense I’ve had every single time that is really all I need to get in, out, and my enemies dead.”

               “And what is that?” Allison demanded.

               “My pretty smile.” He flashed it for her. “It’ll be more surprising if _they_ survive than if I do, so kindly fuck off and leave Cat out of this.”

               Haha, No applauded, so Stiles grinned harshly for him too.

               Allison frowned. “This is going to be harder than you think.”

               “Depends on your definition of hard.” Stiles would have to kill at least one of the board to cow the others, he was sure of that much. He’d probably have to force one of them to fight Smiler and Nike too.

               “What about Peter?” Even as she spoke, Allison’s voice pulled back like she wanted to unsay it.

               “What about him?”

               “Would you bond him instead?”

               Peter turned toward her, “I think—”

               “No,” Stiles said. “I won’t bond anyone.” Except Derek, and Derek wouldn’t have him.

               Though Peter continued facing Allison, he swung his eyes around to glare at Stiles. “As, I was saying, I think it’s better we not, given both of our histories of instability, there’s too great a likelihood of a self-sustaining downward mental spiral.”

               “Plus, then it would prove I was right about them, and they can’t have that.” Derek? Stiles spun his eyes around and found Derek standing just inside the door. He must have slipped in while they were distracted, or at least while Stiles was. With everyone’s attention on him, Derek shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and stepped forward to join them. “If you’re going back to the Watchtower, I’m going too.”

               “Derek,” Stiles said, “You don’t need to—”

               “I didn’t say I need to,” Derek cut him off. “I said I am.”

               “What would you do that we can’t? I didn’t need you last time, and—”

               “If I’d gone last time, I might have stopped you from mutilating a man’s face and becoming one of Watchtower’s leaders instead of destroying it. I know you were trying to set something in motion, but it’s _his_ agenda, not yours.” Derek nodded his head at Haha, No as he spoke. “I might have stopped you from giving him back all but the smallest piece of the power he’s ever had in Watchtower. This time, I’ll be there to stop you.”

               “The one we need to stop is Watchtower!”

               “You _are_ Watchtower.”

               Stiles took a step back before he’d realized it. He shook with rage but had nowhere to direct it, no argument to refute Derek. He shrugged into Haha, No’s coat and turned his back on Derek. “Unlock the cell,” he said. “It’s time to go.” When Scott hesitated, Stiles stunned him with his spade talisman and took the key himself. Haha, No chuckled as Stiles released him.

**~.x.~**

Gregson met them in the forest with her full squad, including Setter and Spade. The two stood slightly apart from the others, though the rooks—black for human, white for shifter—on their uniforms set them apart clearly enough anyway. Stiles had ordered them to follow Gregson’s orders. Maybe he should have specified joining the squad. He needed his few allies united, not splintered.

               “Sir.” Gregson saluted. She eyed the others with him momentarily before turning back to Stiles. “They beat you here. They’ve hard-locked the cells and those corridors with security measures to block prisoner escape routes.”

               “If they can do that, why didn’t they last time I was here?”

               “The Sandpit has been significantly remodeled and upgraded in the past months.”

               “What the hell is a Sandpit?”

               “You’re standing in front of it. That’s the name of this facility.”

               “Well, it’s a stupid name.” Stiles bunched his face up like he could block the stupidity of the name that way. “It needs a better name.”

               “As you say, sir.”

               “That’s what you tell me when I’m full of shit and you’re not sure you can say so.”

               “As you say, sir.” Gregson smirked.

               Stiles ran a hand over his face. “I assume you told me about all the remodels, and I ignored you.”

               Gregson hesitated only a moment. “As you say, sir. You can be... distracted.”

               Stiles chuckled. “As you say, Gregson.”

               “You said some paths are blocked, but not if there’s a way to reach this board or where exactly they are,” Peter pointed out.

               Gregson shook her head. “Most of the soldiers stationed here aren’t sure who to follow, so I don’t even know which paths are safe. That’s part of why I asked Joker to come. I hate to say it, but I lack his charisma, and that may be the only thing to get us through the halls anymore.”

               “How many of the board have come?” Haha, No asked. “It’s too much for them to present a unified front toward _anything,_ even their inevitable deaths.”

               “There are five: Felix Lorrain, Brenna Dorian, Cormac Flynn, Yukio Jackson, and John Mortimer.”

               Haha, No swore.

               Gregson continued. “As I understand it, the others have already been killed except for President Smiler himself and Delilah Keynes, whose whereabouts no one seems to know.”

               “Can we even get through the door?” Allison asked.

               “Of course. Most of us are in uniform, and the rest of you are Joker’s pack. It’s getting close to the board that will give us trouble.”

               Stiles eyed his soldiers. They looked... worried and kept studying him from the corners of their eyes like he wouldn’t notice so long as they didn’t look straight at him. “Why do they look like that?”

               “Sir?”

               “Them!”

               “They are definitely them, sir.”

               Stiles frowned. “They look like they’re having second thoughts about following me. Why?”

               “I’ve been in contact with you regularly for a while now, so I’m used to your eccentricities. They are not.”

               “Dumbo hasn’t been talking to me, and he doesn’t look worried.” Actually, Dumbo looked excited, which might have been worse.

               “Dumbo’s special.”

               “He’s not that special.”

               “He requested entrance into the arena program so he could prove himself to you.”

               “Okay, Dumbo’s special. I take it you denied him?”

               “No viable partners who I didn’t think would get him killed.”

               Dumbo raised a hand, “You realize I _right here,_ right? Sir and um sir.”

               “That’s why I’m talking loudly enough for my voice to carry to you.” Stiles raised his hands as if to say that was obvious.

               “Why are we wasting time?” Derek demanded.

               “I assumed we were waiting for Wight. Is she not coming?” The last Stiles directed at Haha, No.

               Haha, No shrugged. “She hasn’t been returning my letters.”

               Stiles rolled his eyes. “Gregson, do the formation thing and take us inside.”

               Gregson’s soldiers surrounded the group with Gregson and Setter at the front and Dumbo and Spade in the rear. The boys seemed friendly, though Setter and Gregson marched coldly beside each other. Stiles wondered if he’d made a mistake putting Gregson in command of the princes. Setter had wanted to follow him, not his lackey.

               “If Wight’s MIA, who is your primary contact?” Stiles asked Haha, No. He didn’t think the man would trust the Riders, and he knew no one in their right mind would trust Cole.

               “Nike. She’s a special sort of grateful for the way I forced Smiler to legitimize their relationship.” Haha, No shrugged but didn’t elaborate, either because he thought Stiles understood or because he wanted Stiles to ask.

               “Just Nike?” he asked instead.

               “I’ve had spies throughout Watchtower for years, Joker. Wight was one of my best agents, but hardly my only one.” He grinned at that.

               “Was?”

               “Did you miss the part where I mentioned she hasn’t been reporting in?”

               “I didn’t think she was capable of betraying you. She seemed... loyal?” That wasn’t quite the right word.

               “Could you two shut up?” Derek groaned.

               “This is important,” Stiles said.

               “It’s not.”

               Stiles scowled. It _was_ important. Wight hated Stiles, but she’d worked with him in the past at Haha, No’s orders. If she had abandoned him, she would be free to take revenge for her partner and her face.

               They entered the facility then, and Stiles noted the way each soldier stood straighter when they recognized him or Haha, No. He couldn’t say which but wasn’t sure it mattered yet. Eventually it would because eventually Haha, No would betray him, or he would betray Haha, No. None of these soldiers were princes though. Stiles had yet to see any but his own.

               Gregson led them through the halls. No one challenged them, but they kept hitting dead ends where there should have been open corridor. Each time, human guards stood outside the blocked passage and signaled to Gregson, usually through a shake of the head, that they could not get through. Stiles almost asked if that shake meant they couldn’t or wouldn’t let him by but bit it back when he caught Haha, No smirking at him.

               Instead, Stiles said, “This place is huge, and the others I’ve seen are just as big. How do you keep something like this secret?”

               Haha, No shrugged. “Bribes and magic.”

               “Fine, for the buildings. But what about the people? You’ve got soldiers, janitors, scientists, probably cooks somewhere—though not very good ones unless they intentionally fed me shit—architects, construction crews, captives... all those people have to come from somewhere.” Behind him, Derek groaned. Maybe he didn’t want Stiles to talk to Haha, No. Maybe he didn’t want Stiles to talk at all.

               “Over six-hundred thousand people are reported missing every year in the US alone. Even with as many people as we take, it’s just a drop in the well. And many of our employees aren’t missing. They’re legally employed by our stockholders. Watchtower is a legitimate business that’s been making the right bribes for as long as there were bribes to be made. No one looks too closely one way or another.” Haha, No looked too pleased with himself, so Stiles chose not to ask anything else.

               “Sir,” Gregson said. “Trouble.”

               The passage ahead was open except for a solid wall of maroon-clad soldiers three deep and stretching across the entire hall.

               “You’re him, aren’t you?” One of them asked in a rough voice too old for his young face.

               “More specific, please,” Stiles said.

               “You’re the one who killed my brothers.”

               “More, more specific?”

               “You go on rampages killing everyone in your way like they matter less than you do, like you think you deserve to leave more than the rest of us. My brothers were guards, and you slaughtered them.” He was red in the face with shaking fists. The soldiers on either side of him held him still with more solidarity than restraint.

               “I was a prisoner. If I killed anyone, it was because they were guards trying to keep me trapped and tortured.” Stiles sneered before he remembered a grin would work as well. Better, even. “Everyone I’ve killed made the mistake of getting in my way. The mistake you’re making right now.”

               “You think we’re here because we want to be just because we have uniforms and weapons?” the man demanded, shaking more violently with rage. “You’re the same! Dressed in that coat, surrounded by people to do your fighting for you, practically hand-in-hand with him. _”_ He jabbed a finger at Haha, No. “You used to be a prisoner, and now you’re _that_ , so where do you think we came from?”

               Stiles turned to Haha, No. “Legitimately employed?”

               He shrugged. “I said some.”

               “I’M TALKING TO YOU, YOU MONSTER!” the man screamed, spittle flying as his companions’ grips changed to outright holding him back. “Don’t you just ignore me. You’re not better than me. You’re not better than any of us.”       

               “What do you want then? Why are you blocking my path?”

               “They’re here to remind you of what you’ve done and what you’re doing,” a woman’s deep voice said from behind him. Jenneva Cole’s voice. Stiles spun, found her standing with her hands up, Spade and Dumbo’s guns already trained on her. She wore a white coat and plastic badge but otherwise dressed more like a model than a scientist. Beside her stood Wight, dressed all in white as if perfectly clean and straight clothing could make up for her perfectly ruined and broken face. Standing beside Cole—more handsome than beautiful but dressed and made up exquisitely—only emphasized how ugly Wight was now. Stiles wondered if she’d considered plastic surgery, if she’d kept the face as a reminder or a necessity.

               “Like, moral shit?” Stiles asked Cole. “Because you’re about as amoral as they come.”

               “Do you know why I liked to talk to you and No liked to shock you?”

               “That’s a non-sequiter.”

               “He believes you learn more about a man pushed to his limit than you can about one who knows he will survive. The entire Watchtower system relies on this principle. It’s why subjects fight to the death. It’s also why it’s taken centuries to realize there isn’t an answer, though they haven’t admitted it yet.”

               “No,” Haha, No, growled. “There is an answer. We are the answer. We proved we’re the most powerful, the most worthy.”

               “The most fucked up,” Derek corrected.

               “You’re wrong,” Cole insisted. “They used to separate subjects by species, but the humans nearly always died. Someone decided it was because they took away the humans’ weapons but not the werewolves’. Someone decided the experiment should compensate by making the werewolves intothe humans’ weapons. When someone suggested this implied the humans were superior, someone else countered that it couldn’t because the werewolves were winning fights before.” Cole threw up her hands. “All they do is find more ways to keep going. It’s not even about the question anymore. It’s about the power.”

               “Sure, but what’s this conversation supposed to be about?” Stiles asked. “Are you stalling me? I feel like you’re stalling me.”

               Wight made a frustrated sound at the back of her throat. “You’re not listening to her.”

               “Because she’s not telling me what she’s trying to say.”

               Cole continued, “There are so many deaths that each Watchtower arena or training facility has a crematorium. The organization, once a sort of religious cult, now has a board of directors and a president running and funding it. We even sell our research for profit.”

               “Just tell me what you want.”

               “You aren’t saving anyone by working with him. You’re condemning all of us.”

               “I’m doing the best I can.”

               “Like you did when you slaughtered the guards trying to keep you imprisoned? They’re told you’re criminals and volunteers, psychopaths and monsters. They’re told we’re doing research but not what it is. They’re told you’re going to kill them at the slightest provocation. Do you expect them to just let you go?”

               “Gregson?”

               “True, sir.”

               “You never told me they were lying to you.”

               “I don’t believe they’re lies, sir.”

               Cole’s dark eyes burned with passion, though passion for what, Stiles still didn’t know. “Supernaturals live at the edges of society. Usually they’re forced to it, sometimes they choose it. Bitterness and darkness become part of them because they’re trapped on the fringes, never accepted, not completely. Watchtower promised an end, promised an answer, and decided the only appropriate answer was death because humans and monsters can’t live together. And when that was disproven, when humans and werewolves bound their souls together to overcome the monster Watchtower had become, they used it to excuse more death.”

               “You’re a spy, aren’t you?” Stiles made a face. He didn’t have time for _more_ secret organizations. Still, he wondered who Cole worked for and guessed they’d recruited Wight away from Haha, No.

               “And you’re a monster, the perfect Watchtower soldier. You’re everything he wanted you to be down to the last detail, and you can’t even be bothered to fight it. You’re here because of the board, because they’re ready to save their own asses and continue killing and weaponizing innocents. You’re here only to stop the first part.”

               “Unless I’m here to kill them all because it’s the first time they’ve been gathered so conveniently for me.” Stiles scowled because the thought hadn’t even occurred to him before.

               “If you kill them, what happens to the rest of us?” Setter asked. “They framed me for murder before taking me from my family. I’m a fugitive. I can’t go anywhere else.”

               Stiles turned from Setter without answering and addressed Cole instead. “When you tried to have me killed, you knew I would make them fight each other. You knew I would because I came with Haha, No.” He waited long enough for Cole to nod. “And what the fuck would you have done instead that’s so important you wanted me dead for it?”

               “I was going to help them, but I can’t if you keep pushing Watchtower toward killing for power. None of their plans have stopped, none of their operations, none of their murders. You came here, showed off how powerful you are, and left everything to keep running on the promise that a few extra people would be dead by the time they saw you next.”

               Haha, No sighed loudly. “She’s definitely just stalling us.”

               Derek said, “She isn’t.”

               “Then what’s the point of all this?” Stiles asked. “She still hasn’t said what she wants from me or why she stopped us, or why that raving idiot is still foaming at the mouth to squeeze the life out of me. What the fuck is it you think she’s trying to do?”

               Derek stared at Stiles. The others waited, silent, even Cole and Haha, No. Finally, Derek reached a hand forward to brush the solid black spade tattooed onto Stiles’ cheek. “The same thing you are. Even the odds.”

               “I can replicate the bond’s effects,” Cole said. “It changes people. You’re still technically human, but you’re different now too. I know you can feel it. That tattoo should just be ink, but you made it into a tool. Humans can’t do that, not until they become something more.”

               “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Stiles growled. “Gregson, if the next sentence out of her mouth isn’t an explanation, I want her and her friends dead. All of them.”

               Gregson hesitated.

               “You will shoot at least one of them personally, or I will gut you.”

               “Yes, sir.”

               Cole took a slow breath. “I want Watchtower’s resources to spread my solution and make humans and monsters into supernatural equals.”

               “I guess no one’s getting shot. I assume this is to happen whether humans want it or not?”

               “Humans always want power.”

               “And yet many of us refuse the bite.”

               “But you didn’t refuse the bond, not even from Peter Hale.”

               Stiles sneered. “I don’t trust you.”

               “But you trust _him?”_

               “No.” _I understand him._

               “He’s trying to destroy humanity. I’m trying to save them.”

               “Villains always think they’re doing the right thing,” Stiles said.

               “Like you?”

               He gritted his teeth, remembered Derek telling him, ‘You _are_ Watchtower.’

               “Like me.” He shouldered his way forward, and the guard of soldiers moved with him. Cole’s lackeys moved aside, dragging the man who’d screamed at Stiles with them.

**~.x.~**

They found all the princes crammed into the space in front of a door that looked like most of the others but with sturdier locks. They lounged rather than stand at attention but blocked the path no less for it. Those in the back feigned not to notice Stiles approaching with his pack and his squad. A few nearer the front—the first he would kill if he chose to attack—stared him down openly, as if they thought to intimidate him. Stiles chuckled. Intimidation was _his_ thing. A few of the princes flinched obligingly.

               “That’s where they’re meeting?” he asked Gregson.

               “Yes, sir.”

               “Okay, let’s go.” He turned away. The others hesitated before following. They would need a plan to get past that unless he wanted everyone to die charging into a hoard of werewolves and bonded humans. Stiles turned to Peter and tapped his ear. Peter nodded, and they continued walking until Peter set a hand on Stiles shoulder.

               “We should be out of hearing range now,” he said.

               Stiles nodded. “I assume that room is not this place’s equivalent of a security desk.”

               Gregson answered, “‘This place’ is called the Sandpit, sir, and—”

               “I said that named sucked.”

               “ _And_ no, it’s not.”

               “Good. Let’s go there instead.” With all the princes blocking the boardroom, or whatever they were using as a boardroom, security where they handled security should, ironically, be lighter.

               Gregson led the way.

               “Stiles,” Allison said, moving to walk beside him. “What exactly is our plan here?”

               He waved a hand dismissively. “I can’t say until I know what security is like and if they’re listening. It’s a shame I had to say we were visiting in the first place.”

               “You get really obnoxious when you think you’re being clever.”

               “Don’t most people?”

               “Yes, just most of them don’t need it pointed out quite so badly as you do.”

               “Thanks then, I guess.”

               “And button up your coat. Armor only helps if you use it properly.”

               “Yes, ma’am.” His tone was sarcastic, but he followed her orders regardless.

               Peter touched Stiles hand. When Stiles looked at him, he tugged his earlobe back. It either meant Peter had an itch or they were being followed. Maybe Stiles missed the bond a little. Once upon a time, Derek could have just thought the words to Stiles. When Stiles glanced at Derek, he nodded slightly to confirm what Peter had indicated. Stiles sighed.

               “Sir?” Gregson asked.

               “I told you so,” Allison muttered, apparently having caught Peter’s warning too.

               He waved Gregson’s question and Allison’s comment away and continued walking, keeping an eye on Peter, which is why he wasn’t watching when Derek tackled him from behind. There was a boom, or maybe that had come first. Stiles struggled to stand, ears ringing, but there was a weight on top of him pushing him down, hands pulling his arms from under him, and Derek’s breath, steady on the back of his neck. He calmed at that. Derek would protect him.

               Shouting. Someone, several someones, had begun yelling, orders and questions. Smoke filled the corridor. Derek ripped his shirt and wrapped the cloth around Stiles’ mouth. “We’re cut off,” he whispered. “ _Do not let them break you.”_ He said it with such intensity Stiles half-thought it had been telepathic. But it hadn’t. It couldn’t. He nodded dumbly before shaking his head.

               “No,” he growled. “I won’t let them take me.” He tried to stand, turning. He could stun them with his talisman. No one would take him ever again.

               Derek pulled him back down into the corner he had tackled Stiles into before. “I told Peter to get Allison out, but we can’t. We’re trapped.”

               “Can’t they hear us talking?”

               “The squad has us surrounded. I know you can’t see, but you can still think, can’t you?”

               Stiles winced. “I can fight. We should fight.”

               “Oh, you’re going to fight alright,” a voice said, female and smoothly arrogant. Stiles had heard it before but couldn’t place where. She stepped from the smoke, blonde hair hanging around the black leather jacket over her shoulders. For a second, Stiles thought it was the alpha kanima from their first arena, but it was worse.

               “Kate?” Derek’s voice broke over the name. His grip, holding Stiles down from the smoke and the fighting, fell away.

               “Miss me?” Kate Argent smirked, eyes glowing green as a dark, feline, pattern spread over her face and fangs grew from her human teeth. She raised a shotgun and fired into Derek’s middle before either of them recovered from their shock. Stiles charged wildly, but Kate knocked him back. With a crack, his head collided with the cement wall. Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision. His last thought before blacking out was that _no one_ could be bothered to stay dead anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible Trigger Description: Stiles gets a new talisman, this one meant for healing. He cuts his leg to test its healing properties. He thinks of it solely in terms of a test, not as a way to hurt himself. He makes two incisions.


	2. Grenade

Stiles couldn’t feel Derek as part of himself, but for this, he didn’t need to. Kate had returned from the dead. Kate who seduced Derek for his family’s secrets. Kate who lied to and manipulated Derek. Kate who burned his house down with his family in it. Kate who made him an orphan. Kate who made it his fault. Stiles didn’t need a telepathic link to know this could break Derek all over again. Kate was the only person in the world who had hurt Derek more than Haha, No and Stiles, and she should have been dead years ago.

               Stiles lay on the floor of a cell. Cement floor, cement walls, metal door, and a mountain ash wooden framework inside it all. Derek had told him that last part aloud, unable to project thoughts to Stiles and unwilling to reform their bond even now. He sat against the wall, wedged into a corner with his head in his hands. When Stiles tried to approach, Derek scooted to a more distant corner. The cell had no furniture, no ornamentation of any kind. It was just an empty room they couldn’t break out of.

               There was something stuck on Stiles face, covering his talisman. Derek wouldn’t tell him what, but it was hard, and the edges felt like they had thread wrapped around them. Tugging at it hurt. Derek had made him stop even though he didn’t feel Stiles’ pain anymore.

               A rap came on the door, sharp and loud. “Joker, it’s Nike. I’m going to enter. I’m going to bring a guard, and you’re not going to attack me unless you want us to tear Derek’s arm off. He’s in no condition to stop us.” She hadn’t needed to say that last part. Stiles knew.

               The door opened. Nike was dressed in something like a Watchtower uniform but with gold accents. She looked stronger, less sallow than when he’d seen her last. Her guard looked nervous.

               “I’m sure you’ve realized by now that you are no longer in charge.”

               “You know, that thought hadn’t even occurred to me.”

               Nike sighed. “There isn’t time for this, Joker. Kate Argent has bullied the board into putting her in command, and she doesn’t understand you or the threat you pose. So she’s handed you over the Jenneva Cole for her... research.”

               “Why do you care?”

               She looked confused. “I’m obviously plotting a double cross. I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

               “I take it they’re not monitoring this room right now.”

               “Okay, maybe smart but slow. Argent deposed Smiler. She didn’t just make him part of the board instead of president, she made him her secretary. Fortunately for us, she doesn’t understand how dangerous you are, especially when paired with Derek.” She didn’t use a nickname for Derek, neither Beast nor Adam. They didn’t suit him, and it seemed everyone could tell.

               “So we’re supposed to, what? Break out and kill her?”

               Nike rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to let Cole make you powerful. She’s not working with me, exactly, but she’s working against Argent. The enemy of my enemy can use magic and science to make my enemy’s other enemy strong enough for me to use that enemy as a tool.”

               Stiles’ mouth worked silently for a moment before he could speak. “You know, I’m beginning to realize this place attracts a certain kind of person, and we all have the same sense of humor.”

               In his corner, Derek snorted before regaining control of himself.

               “What about No? Is he in on it?” Stiles asked.

               “He’s unpredictable. To be fair, so are you, but he’s better at this game than you are and more of a risk. Cole thinks she can use him, but be wary of him and don’t assume he is an ally, not even an ally of convenience.” She left before Stiles could tell her he knew better than to believe anything of the sort about Haha, No.

               “She seems nice,” Derek said.

               Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.

**~.x.~**

Cole had chairs with straps set up but left them loose after Stiles and Derek agreed to sit. These chairs didn’t connect to suction cups or needles like Haha, No’s chairs had. The room showed no sign of torture at all. Guards—both humans and princes with black and white rook patches—blocked the doors and stood between Stiles and Cole. Wight was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. Cole stood by a table with a laptop and lifted a pair of headphones from it.

               “Not those again,” Derek groaned. Stiles had never dealt with headphones at a Watchtower facility, but he knew they’d had Derek for a while before forcing Stiles to bond him. Stiles remembered Haha, No mentioning frequencies increasing Derek’s psychic potential and wondered what Cole hoped to use the headphones for. Would she force them to bond too? Part of Stiles wouldn’t mind that, even knowing Derek didn’t want it.

               “Relax, we’re starting with Joker since you’ve been amped previously.”

               Derek grunted.

               “Joker, you’re going to wear these headphones. I want you to raise your hand every time you hear a sound.”

               Stiles paused, staring. “Is this a hearing test?” he asked.

               “Yes.”

               “Why?”

               “Sounds don’t affect the deaf or partially deaf the way they affect the hearing.” She said it like it was obvious. Stiles supposed it was. He just hadn’t expected a _hearing test_ when Watchtower captured him. Cole put the headphones on Stiles while he let his thoughts distract him. They were wireless. Cole moved back to her laptop and began messing with the mouse, but Stiles didn’t hear anything.

               She’d been clicking away for a while by the time Stiles heard his first sound through the headphones. He raised a hand, saw how the nearest guard flinched when he did, and laughed. After Cole nodded to him, he put his hand down. They continued this for several minutes, the sounds coming at sporadic intervals through either ear or both, and the guards looking like they wished Cole had tied Stiles down even though he was effectively harmless with so many of them there to stop him and his talisman covered. Well, maybe not so harmless to the nearest guard. He would die before the others stopped Stiles. Stiles could take his firearm to fight the others off then. If Derek joined the fight, they might even make it out of the room.

               _If_ Derek joined the fight. He hadn’t fought in the hall, hadn’t even tried. Stiles couldn’t tell what Derek would do anymore. He doubted Derek would let him die, but that might manifest as forcing Stiles to surrender.

               A shrieking sounded through the headphones, and Stiles jerked them off. “What the hell was that?”

               Cole smiled. “Usually, nothing. What did it sound like to you?”

               “What?” Damnit, Stiles, be cool. Be Joker. Don’t say ‘What’ like a dumbass.

               “It was a psychic wavelength, a unique one. Most humans hear it, though very softly, like distant wind or someone whispering their name. No used it frequently in one of his subsections at Viper’s Crown.”

               “Snakes don’t wear hats.” Oh, yeah, because _that_ sounded any smarter than the last.

               “Oh, you wouldn’t have known, would you?” She said that so smugly. “That was the name of the initial facility they held you in. The one where you fought in the arena. Of course, it was named after his kanima.”

               “Of course.”

               “You haven’t answered my question.” Not one to be distracted long.

               Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted her to hear his answer. It gave her something on him, especially knowing it had only been whispering before. “Was it the View? The... subsection where he used that sound.”

               Cole smiled. “So you’ve been exposed to this frequency before. Did it sound the same? Is that why it frightened you?”

               He almost told her he hadn’t been frightened, but she’d know it for a lie. “It was loud,” he said instead, “after everything else had been so quiet.”

               “Describe the loudness.”

               “High pitched?”

               “Inside or outside human vocal range?”

               Damnit, that sounded like someone who knew he’d heard screaming. “Probably inside.”

               “Can you attribute a source to the sound? Even something inaccurate. Remember, it’s a psychic message too, not just audio.”

               “A, uh...” A woman, maybe. It had been a high, violent wailing, mournful, inasmuch as a raging scream could be sad. “A banshee,” he said at last, suddenly certain.

               Cole typed something into her laptop. “Do you know what Derek heard the last time I had him listen to that?”

               “If Derek wanted me to know, he’d tell me.”

               “Yes, but I don’t care what Derek wants.” Cole clicked a few times and scanned the screen. “He heard a sound varying from low to high within human range, punctuated, undulating, with rushes of air between. A man’s laughter. He identified the voice as yours after probing.”

               Strange, still, not to feel Derek tense mentally.

               “So,” Cole continued, “Knowing you heard a banshee’s scream, would you say she was predicting your own death or someone else’s?”

               “If I’m lucky, she was screaming for the Watchtower itself.”

               “You’re not that lucky.” Cole typed something. Clicked with her mouse. “So your hearing is about average for a human, a little less in your left ear. I assume you generally rely on your werewolves to hear for you.”

               Stiles didn’t comment.

               “Next we’ll test your affinity for specific categories of supernatural frequencies. I’ll raise the volume slightly in your left ear so the effect is even.”

               At a motion from Cole, the nearest guard picked the headphones off the floor and handed them to Stiles. Stiles made a face but put them on. Once he had them settled, Cole went to work at her laptop again, though she hadn’t told Stiles if he was supposed to raise his hand anymore.

               The room vanished. Stiles floated in a void. He tried to react, but the void was weightless, motionless, leaving him bodiless. No way to act on an environment that did not exist with a body that also did not exist. He tried to open his mouth, to form words, no response.

               Or just no response he could feel.

               He couldn’t have left the room. He was just listening to something that was blocking his senses. But he remembered how his body worked and where he had left it—where it was still, assuming he hadn’t flailed himself right out of his seat already.

               Stiles formed his mouth around the words and projected his voice, hoping the outcome was acceptable but unsure since he couldn’t perceive it. “Hard to participate in the science when I can’t even hear your instructions for the science. Kuzco’s science. The science chosen specifically to kill Kuzco. That science.”

               The room returned. Stiles was in his chair, held down by the wide-eyed guard who leapt back once he saw Stiles could see again.

               “That was actually very impressive,” Cole said. “Hardly any slurring at all.”

               “I roared and thrashed until she woke me,” Derek admitted. “Cat sat dead still.”

               That’s right. They’d had Cat as long as Derek. Stiles wondered why they had tested Derek and Cat but not him. Maybe it was Haha, No, or maybe it was that Stiles had been Joker at the time, his mind a drugged mess of missed connections to keep him from remembering his identity.

               The void returned without warning. “Really?” he asked and sighed. This time he knew better than to thrash about so a Watchtower soldier had to hold him in his chair.

               The void had a feeling of nothingness more than an absence of feeling. Like there was something there, except that the something was the concept of nothing. His senses had been turned off, so this sense had to be a psychic one, his mind receiving some sort of signal beyond the lack of signal his body got now. If his hands couldn’t do anything only because he couldn’t feel them, did that mean his mind coulddo something because he could feel it?

               What sorts of things did minds do? Think. He was already doing that, having no effect. He wanted his mind to touch this place—placelessness?—in a way his body couldn’t. His mind controlled his body, but he had no body here. His mind used his body to control his environment. Without a body, maybe he could cut out the middle man. Stiles tried to imagine a knife, but nothing happened. What would he have done with a knife anyway? There was nothing here to stab. He imagined a force of motion. Even with the void, he perceived it as having distance, so he chose to perceive himself moving into that distance. There was no sense of movement, but somehow Stiles knew it had worked.

               The void blinked out. “Very good,” Cole said.

               The room vanished again. This time he stood on a glossy black path with a black wall of the same material before him. He had a body this time. When Stiles turned to walk around the wall, another appeared. When he turned behind him, one appeared there too. The walls formed, boxing him in until there was no way to go but up and a ceiling blocked that. Stiles tried to imagine the wall falling the way he’d imagined himself moving in the void. Nothing happened. It felt... wrong.

               Stiles reached out and set his hand against the wall. It was cold and glassy. He pulled back his hand, made a fist, and swung it at the wall. Nothing happened, but it felt right. He punched again and again, but the wall never showed any sign of weakening. Stiles punched until his knuckles bled. He kicked the wall, punched with his left hand, ripped the covering from his talisman and stunned an inanimate object that couldn’t have moved or thought anyway. He would pretend that meant it had worked since clearly nothing else did.

               Between blinks, the room returned. “Why couldn’t you breach the barrier?”

               Stiles shrugged.

               “It was a weak barrier. Derek overcame this easily at his first testing, though Cat needed some extra time. You should have at least made progress.”

               Stiles shrugged again.

               “Most people picture this one as a wall or blockade of some kind. Typically, hitting it ‘physically’ breaks it. Were you trying to use your mind the whole time?”

               “I punched it so hard my knuckles are bleeding in the real world,” Stiles said, staring at his bloodied hand.

               Cole gave a start. “That’s a surprising amount of backlash for such a low-level barrier.” She typed and clicked and made not the slightest offer of a bandage.

               “Joker,” Derek said. He sounded like he was smiling, strange as that was.

               “Yeah, Der?”

               “We finally found something you’re bad at.” He was _definitely_ smiling. Ass.

               Stiles groaned. His knuckles had stopped bleeding, but he wasn’t sure his ego could take the beating of Derek chuckling softly behind him.

**~.x.~**

Someone pounded on the metal door. “Wake up, slugs,” Kate Argent’s voice rang clearly into their cell. “Time for your match!” She laughed wildly.

               Stiles sat with a groan, trying to work stiffness out of his shoulders. Sleeping on cement sucked more than he remembered, though to be fair, some of his memories were blurred by drugs or trauma or both. Derek already sat, leaned against the wall, back straight, eyes wide, and completely still except for his shaking hands. Stiles reached forward to comfort him, but Derek flinched away violently.

               The door swung open with Kate still laughing. “I hear it’s been a while for you, so I’ll give you a refresher on the rules. We’re going to take you to a pit full of sand, a Sandpit if you will, and we’re going to take another team of one werewolf and one human to the same pit. Then you’re going to fight to the death.”

               Stiles snarled at her but turned it into a grin. She grinned right back. Derek hyperventilated but stood, fists clenched and trembling. Kate gave him a look of mock-pity before turning on her heel and leading them down the hall. A full complement of Watchtower-uniformed soldiers escorted them. When Derek tried to make a break for it, they shot him in the shoulder and laughed. Kate laughed loudest of all. Derek wouldn’t let Stiles check his shoulder, and the guards wouldn’t let them stop walking to do it anyway.

               The door opened automatically when they reached it, metal sliding aside into its slot in the wall. The guards shoved them through, and Stiles fell to his hands and knees just like he had the first time Watchtower guards pushed him into an arena, except this time they shoved him into a cage suspended above the arena. A mechanism pulled the cage toward the arena’s center where it met another cage, presumably holding their opponents. The cages stayed just far enough apart to keep them from reaching each other.  

               Even if Stiles hadn’t recognized them, he would know the couple in the other cage for a human-werewolf pair, but they were also the Riders. Stiles didn’t know their names. The human among them had told him to call them Lord and Lady, but Rider was their shared last name as husband and wife. The Riders had fought with Stiles last time, bringing him into Watchtower to betray Smiler—then called Garcia—in the name of a Watchtower offshoot called Wind.

               Lady Rider chuckled bitterly. “There may be fights after today, but this is the one that decides who will take the tower.”

               Stiles tried to ignore her and study the arena for advantages. Except for the cages, it looked much like the other arena he knew, rounded by cement walls, bottomed with sand, topped with windows. Stiles had a good idea who would want to watch through those windows today. These were less reflective than those of Haha, No’s arena, and Stiles thought he could make out human forms behind them, vague but present. One of them waved.

               Overall, nothing of import, nothing of use.

               “Did you make your bosses mad?” Derek asked the Riders, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

               So they were posturing now. Great. Stiles wanted a tangible advantage. The Riders wouldn’t be psyched out as easily as strangers.

               “You’re one to talk, since your boyfriend was supposed to be the boss.” Lady Rider laughed, high and light like she wasn’t about the fight them to the death.

               They didn’t have time to waste on this.

               “Derek, my spade.”

               For a moment, he thought Derek hadn’t understood, then he reached up with one claw to pick at the edges of whatever they had covered Stiles’ talisman with. Stiles tried not to wince. He didn’t want to know, not really, but had an idea already that they had sewn it to his skin, that Derek was cutting thread now.

               The bottoms of the cages swung open, dropping everyone into the sand as a gong rang out. A pre-recorded voice shouted, “Fight!” Derek charged without a second’s hesitation, and Stiles swore. They hadn’t gotten the covering off fully. He’d expected more time, expected to hear the instructions like at the old arena. Fuck. He charged for Lord Rider, the werewolf, knowing Derek was doing the same.

               Stiles dropped, skidding through the sand at Lord Rider’s feet to grab his legs. The wolf leapt easily over him, but Derek was there to slash him out of the air. Stiles steered his slide to turn with one hand and use the other to rip the covering from his face, hoping it didn’t take his skin and tattoo with it. There was blood, but Derek had cut enough of the threads—fuck, threads, they _had_ sewn it to his face—for the hard covering to come off in Stiles’ hand. He made a fist around it and found Lady Rider almost on top of him.

               He stunned her with a grin and a jolt of power through his spade talisman. Laughing, he stood, walked to where she stood, and knocked her feet out from under her. Then he started kicking until he was sure she couldn’t stand even though the talisman’s effect should have run out.

               When he turned to find Derek, he found instead Derek had found him and slashed Lady Rider’s throat open. Lord Rider already lay in pieces. That hadn’t taken long. Derek turned burning red eyes on Stiles, and his lips quirked into a twisted almost-smile. That’s right. Stiles had forgotten Derek enjoyed this. Stiles had forgotten that sometimes, Derek lived up to _his_ nickname too. Stiles had forgotten that Derek was the Beast who tore his enemies asunder.

               Derek slammed Stiles against the wall, a little too roughly for his human bones. The breath rushed out of Stiles’ lungs and straight into Derek’s mouth as he crushed their lips together. One of his fangs nicked Stiles’ lower lip. Derek didn’t seem to notice as he pressed the length of his body against Stiles, and fuck was he hard, and fuck was he hot. They had an audience, but they’d had one from the start. Their first time had been in a shower with a squad of Watchtower guards staring and snickering. No one stopped them even though the fight was over and it was time to leave. Maybe they liked the after show.

               Stiles had forgotten how much Derek enjoyed this.

               Stiles had forgotten how much Derek hated himself for it too.

               He cupped Derek’s face in his hands, well, one hand and a fist still holding the thing they’d sewn to his cheek. When he pulled Derek’s lips from his, Derek almost didn’t let him, but just almost. Stiles tilted Derek’s head and leaned forward to press their foreheads together. Derek had frozen, unsure now what Stiles wanted from him, but for once, this wasn’t about what _Stiles_ wanted.

               “Is this what you want?” Stiles asked, voice cracking because he knew the answer already. “Is this who you want to be?”

               Derek’s hands started shaking then against Stiles skin where he’s brushed his shirt aside to reach his back. “No,” he whispered. He buried his face in Stiles’ neck. “No.”

               The doors opened then, and soldiers filed in to lead them out to where they could shower and be issued clean, undamaged uniforms. Stiles’ included the coat Haha, No had given him. Derek’s had a coat with a white rook on one shoulder and a jester’s cap on the other. Stiles wondered if this meant he still had power, if the fight had been to prove himself. But they led the two of them back to their cell and left them on the bare cement, trying to figure out how near or far they should be from the other.

               Stiles had kept the thing they’d sewn to his face in his hand even as he showered and scrubbed Derek’s back for him after making sure the bullet wound had already healed. Now he finally had time to open his hand and study it as Derek watched him. It was a hard, dark green scale. A kanima scale, he thought. Stiles remembered the shadow in the window that had waved before the fight.

               “Haha, No is working for them again,” he said.

               Derek nodded and stared at his hands.

               Stiles resisted the urge to reach out and squeeze one of them. He tried to plan how he would use Cole against Haha, No because that seemed their best bet for freedom now.

**~.x.~**

Stiles punched the glossy black wall in his mind’s eye. He pictured the wall cracking with the force of his blow, but the only thing cracking was his knuckles. He shook off the pain, started again. Nothing. Screamed, beat the wall. Something was _wrong_ with him. Cole had shown him Derek smashing the wall, though it looked different when it was Derek’s wall. Derek pictured it with red-brown stone bricks, unevenly toned like they’d been grey once and stained over with blood. Then Cole made one of her guards do it for Stiles, and she had pictured a wall built of massive, solid logs that splintered when she kicked it. Cole wouldn’t let Stiles close to her mind but assured him she could turn a barrier this weak to mentally-pictured dust with barely a touch. Stiles growled and beat at the wall. It was fucking invincible. _What_ was wrong with him?

               He stopped, stepped back, sat, and stared at the wall. He had to be doing something wrong. Cole had said most people just hit it. Most people. So Stiles had a rare, but not unique weakness. To be honest, he was used to having to find a way beyond just hitting things. He had a tendency to get into fights with monsters.

               Stunning or confusing the wall wouldn’t work. It was a fucking wall. It wasn’t even the only opponent—could a wall be called an opponent?—he couldn’t defeat. He’d never once beaten Allison. She’d always said he was holding back, but he hadn’t been. Had he? He hadn’t wanted to kill her, but he’d certainly wanted to smack the smug look off her face. She’d given him tools, claiming they were all he needed to win. Pepper spray and a knife against her crossbow. Sometimes they’d fought hand-to-hand, but she always won then too. Because he couldn’t stun or confuse her any more than this wall. Allison never underestimated him, never overestimated him. She knew exactly what he was capable of and defended herself against it.

               The wall was a projection of his mind given ‘life’ by some kind of magic bullshit he didn’t really understand. Inasmuch as a wall could understand anything, it understood his capabilities too.

               Allison always insisted he could win if he used the tools she’d given him instead of the ones that couldn’t work against her. He just had to use the right tools for the job.

               _At least no one can see me making a fool of myself here,_ Stiles thought, imagining a chisel and a mallet appearing in his hands. He set the chisel against the wall and rammed the mallet against it, feeling as big an idiot as he ever had. But it felt right also. A crack splintered the glassy black surface like a chasm into darkness. Stiles struck again, and the wall collapsed.

               Cole woke him or turned off her magic noises or whatever it was she did. “That took way too long,” she said. “What was the holdup? How did you get through?”

               Stiles shrugged. “I just wasn’t doing it right.”

               Cole gave him a withering look, so he shrugged again.

               “I thought you were cooperating,” she said.

               “I haven’t killed anyone I wasn’t told to, have I?”

               “How did you break through the barrier?” She crossed her arms and stared him down.

               He sighed. “I just had to use the right tools for the job.” He’d tried to use intimidation and brute force against every opponent so far, and maybe that was why Watchtower was still standing and had taken him prisoner again. Haha, No was not the right tool for that job.

               “I take it you mean tools literally? I’ve heard of that but didn’t expect it from someone with such a history of killing and beating and mutilating with his bare hands.”

               “It’s not a history I chose.”

               “I suppose it’s not.” She turned from him and began typing, notes probably. “I’m done with them for the day,” she said, not bothering to look up. “Take them to their room.”

               Stiles and Derek stood and let the Watchtower soldiers escort them out. They _were_ cooperating, after all. For now. Even Cole couldn’t believe they’d play along forever. Their guards let them into the same cell, but it was different now, just a little. There was a bed, for one thing, though just the one, and a coat rack in the corner. A note left on a pillow read, _I hear congratulations are in order._ The handwriting was Haha, No’s.

               With a shrug, Derek hung up his coat and sat on the bed. He had nothing else to do, so Stiles followed suit, scratching at the bandage over his spade tattoo. Obviously, they couldn’t let him walk around with it uncovered, but they’d learned better than to sew kanima scales over it, at least. He’d noticed his guards seemed to have orders not to look at him at the same time too, a precaution against his stunning power. Or maybe they were just nervous about his face. Hard to say.

               “We need to talk,” Derek said. He didn’t say more.

               “About what?”

               Derek worked the fingers of one hand around those on the other, squeezing and twisting the skin there. “I don’t want to talk.”

               “You just said—”

               “I know. I...” Derek closed his eyes and took in a slow breath, let it out, opened his eyes and turned to Stiles. “When we talk, you win. It’s not even a fight, and you win. When we’re both in a room, it’s going to be about you. You’re going to win. Every time. You always do.”

               “There’s nothing to win. We’re not fighting each other.”

               “I know. You still do. I.. forget how to not put you first. It’s not your fault, but I blame it on you.”

               “I’m not sure what we’re talking about.”

               “That’s because we’re talking about me, and that’s not something we do, Stiles. Everything has to be about you.” Derek’s tone grew harsh. He snarled before visibly reigning himself in. “I lost myself to you. It’s not your fault. You were in no condition to take care of me, and I know it’s unfair of me to have expected it from you, but _I_ took care of _you._ I just... You can’t understand it. I don’t know how to explain it. I took care of you, but you couldn’t take care of me. It’s not my fault, but it’s not your fault, but neither of us is blameless either.”

               “Every time we get out, you try to pull away from me, and every time we come back, you’re stuck with me again.”

               Derek nodded.

               “If this is about the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor. I’m kind of used to it.”

               “It’s not about the bed.” Derek shook his head, bemused.

               “If this is about the fight, it’s okay. You can choose who you are. You... don’t have to make the same choice I did.” The choice to become what Watchtower made of him.

               “Can I choose? Has either of us really chosen anything since they took us?” Derek’s hands formed into fists in his lap, steady for once.

               Stiles wasn’t sure. To an extent, they hadn’t even chosen their relationship. They’d been pushed into it, manipulated into finding comfort in each other, finding the world in each other. Stiles believed with all his heart he’d have fallen in love with Derek anyway, eventually, maybe had already begun, but what if Derek didn’t?

               “Is it about...” He hesitated, wondered if he’d word it right. “About _consent?”_ He wasn’t sure that was clear enough.

               “I don’t know what it’s about. Us. Me. I don’t know.”

               “That’s not a ‘no,’ Derek. Do you feel like I...” Stiles wasn’t sure he could say it, was almost thankful to have lost the bond because it was as likely to condemn as to comfort him at this point. He didn’t think he could stand to literally feel Derek thinking Stiles had raped him.

               “Fuck no. You’re as much a victim of them as I am.”

               So that’s what mind-numbing relief felt like.

               “I’m not sure either of us really had a choice,” Derek continued, “But I sure as hell know neither of us forced the other either.”

               “I’m in love with you,” Stiles said. “I’m not sure what that’s worth, but I think I finally know what it means.” It meant that moment in the arena when Stiles hadn’t taken what he wanted any way Derek was willing to give it but stopped and instead made sure Derek gave only what _he_ wanted. “It means letting you go if that’s what’s best for you.”

               Derek didn’t respond. He set his elbows on his knees and leaned forward to bury his face in his hands. Stiles knew him well enough to know, even before his shoulders started shaking, that Derek was crying and trying desperately not to.

               “Did I say something wrong?”

               Derek shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes with the side of his hands. “No, asshole, you said exactly what I needed you to say in exactly the moment I needed you to screw up again.”

               “I am still confused.”

               Derek drew in a ragged breath. “I’m trying to fall out love with you, not to forgive you or let you help me.”

               Stiles pulled back. “Every time you pull away, I drag you back in, and I’m doing it again now, right?”

               Derek nodded.

               “So I won’t.” He’d just said he would let Derek go, and he meant it.

               “That doesn’t help.”

               “Oh, sorry, um... No, Derek, after all we’ve been through together, I deserve your love. Give it to me now.” He paused. “Better?”

               Derek laughed, or, well, snorted and choked over his tears. He shook his head. Stiles made an exaggerated kissy face, and Derek shoved him back with the palm of his hand.

               “You are not helping,” Derek said.

               Stiles shrugged and grabbed the pillow. “I meant what I said about the floor, but I’m taking this. It’s only fair.” He left Derek behind on the bed and curled up with the pillow on the floor. The bed was built for one anyway.

**~.x.~**

Their room was dark. Derek had turned off the lights early tonight and lain down with the blanket wadded up into a pillow. “Something’s wrong,” he muttered.

               “Generally,” Stiles agreed. He’d taken up his space on the floor with the pillow.

               “No, I mean...” Derek rolled over and sped to Stiles’ corner so fast Stiles nearly stunned him out of shock. He stuck his face right next to Stiles, scowling. “ _Something’s wrong.”_ His eyes glowed, but not red. Stiles had seen them glow gold before as a ruse to keep anyone from realizing Derek was an alpha. No one could see them now. Even if there were hidden cameras here, Stiles doubted they could see anything with Derek shoving their faces so close together. This wasn’t a show.

               “You do seem a little blue,” Stiles said, hoping it would only make sense to Derek.

               Derek nodded, letting his eyes return to normal and moving away to sit against the wall. He didn’t have a mirror, couldn’t check his eyes on his own. “I can’t seem to... cheer up.” He rolled his eyes.

               “Do you know what’s wrong?”

               “I assume: everything.”

               “Fair point.” Stiles wondered if Derek really had no clue or just couldn’t think how to say it. He almost asked Derek for the bond so they could talk properly again, but Derek knew the advantages as well as he. If Derek wanted Stiles in his head, he’d be there already.

**~.x.~**

Kate had decided to taunt them again, but this time she had a regiment of Watchtower guards and two huge men covered in bones and wearing animal skulls like helmets escort Derek and Stiles to a cell more like those they’d shared under Haha, No’s care. Stiles leaned against the bars while Derek sat near the back of the cell and Kate stood, arms crossed, with her bone men just out of Stiles’ reach if he’d stretched his arm through the bars. Derek kept closing his eyes and leaning his head forward before snapping them open again, head shooting up to stare directly at Kate, like he couldn’t decide if he’d rather hide and pretend she wasn’t there or watch out for the next move she’d make to destroy everything he loved.

               “Bisexual?” Kate asked, eyeing them both. “I hadn’t expected that.” Neither of them had said or discussed the word. Any word. Stiles suddenly and violently resented her taking that from them, though he couldn’t say it made him hate her any more than everything else she had done. Murder ranked a little higher than labeling, he guessed.

               Stiles shrugged. Derek didn’t seem to have heard, though Stiles knew he must have.

               “Or is it just a special circumstance sort of thing. You risked your lives together and formed a sort of bond, a literal magic soul-bond from what I hear, or is that not a thing anymore?”

               Stiles shrugged. Derek still hadn’t decided if he wanted to ignore Kate or stare at her.

               Her eyes narrowed around a jolt of green. Her skin darkened briefly before she reined it back. Loose temper. Stiles could find a way to use that against her.

               Stiles ran a finger along the cool metal bar of the cell as though bored. To be honest, he _was_ a bit bored. He was used to dealing with people who knew his weaknesses and could predict his reactions. Kate’s blind stabbing was feeble in comparison. Unless she wasn’t trying to insult so much as gain information without seeming to. Stiles knew she’d strong-armed the board somehow, deposed Smiler, and had the run of the facility with her bone men, but he doubted anyone gave her an ounce more than she forced them to.

               “The bond makes us stronger,” Stiles said, “or weaker. It gets very confusing.”

               Kate’s eyes widened slightly at the first before narrowing in disappointment. Yes, she wanted information. One of the bone men shot forward and put a hand around Stiles’ throat before he could move back. Stiles kept his hands at his sides and smiled as best he could with his feet slowly pulling off the floor. If Kate didn’t call her monster off soon, Stiles would have to break the grip himself and lose his unaffected image, but he needed Kate unsure, afraid if possible, convinced all the rumors people here whispered about him were true. To be fair, they were.

               The bone man let Stiles drop. He didn’t rub his throat, only chuckled to clear it.

               “Did they take you, or did you find them on your own?” Stiles asked, laughing. He leaned against the bars, not the wall, to seem unafraid. The bone man’s grip had been strong. Stiles wasn’t sure he could have broken it. There was always the tattoo, hidden only by an adhesive bandage.

               “I’m asking the questions here,” Kate growled.

               Stiles gave her his best condescending smirk. “I’m always asking the questions.” He wished he knew what she’d heard about him already, wished he could play that up. Well, he had a standard template, didn’t he? Cocky, unhinged, laughing son of a bitch who will probably kill all of you and doesn’t care that you’ll try to kill him first. The only thing his persona had to care about was Derek, and he wasn’t sure he could pretend not to anyway.

               He gave Kate a chance to respond before continuing. “So what are those called?” He nodded his head toward the bone men.

               Kate took her turn smirking now. So she thought the things should scare Stiles. “They’re berserkers.”

               “Like the Dwarves in Dragon Age?”

               Her eyes flashed again. Temper, temper.

               “They tell me you’re strong... for a human.” She began to stalk back and forth along the bars, or maybe it was more of a swagger, full of confidence and rolling hips. “They also tell me you’ve broken the bond that made you strong and now have to rely on some ink under that band-aid.” So they didn’t tell her he relied more heavily on manipulation than anything. “They don’t call you ‘Stiles’ when they say it, naturally, but maybe they should. The way they say ‘Joker’ makes them sound afraid of you. Most of them.”

               Stiles shrugged. “There are times I don’t call myself ‘Stiles’ either.” He left out that he’d been so drugged up he couldn’t remember his real name or his real nickname. That Derek called him Joker sometimes should seem to corroborate the idea that Stiles literally thought of himself by that name. It should make the Joker persona stronger in Kate’s eyes. He wondered how well she read him. Stiles knew they were both playing each other now, but did Kate? Or did she think she was manipulating a traumatized prisoner with too little mind left for much more than killing? Maybe Cole’s test results would support that since it seemed Stiles was a terrible psychic. That is if Cole reported her results to Kate at all.

               “Why give it up though?” Kate asked, eyebrows raised like her curiosity was real. “By all reports, the bond made you stronger and faster. You healed faster, and you could communicate telepathically, which I imagine would come in handy right about now. What was so great that you’d throw all that away?”

               Stiles smirked. He didn’t answer, or couldn’t.

               “You’re talking to the wrong person,” Derek said.

               Kate’s eyes flashed as they swung to him. “No, the mad scientist was there. Stiles broke the bond.”

               Derek leaned his head lazily against the wall. “Yes.”

               “You were distraught. You wanted it intact.”

               “Yes.”

               “So why is it you think he’s not the one to tell me why he broke it?”

               Derek raised an eyebrow silently.

               Kate snarled. “Answer me, Derek.”

               Derek sighed, pushed himself to his feet, and brushed off his jeans like this was all a minor annoyance, like Kate had asked him to take out the trash after he’d gotten comfy on the couch. “You know about the tattoos. You know he keeps the name, lives by it even. You even know he has no good reason _not_ to want the advantages of the bond or you wouldn’t have to ask.” He sighed again, shaking his head like she’d missed the obvious. “So you _should_ know that he wants it back.”

               Kate’s eyes flickered between her prisoners, reevaluating. “The tattoos are a pale comparison,” she said, working it out. “Derek is the one who won’t re-forge the bond.”

               Derek spread his hands, accepting the blame.

               “Why?”

               Derek looked back and forth between Kate and Stiles, a small, cruel quirk forming at the edge of his lips. Stiles knew that look and flinched even before Derek said, “He reminds me of you now.”

               Stiles knew Derek was watching him, knew he’d said it as much to hurt Stiles as to make Kate spread her efforts between the two of them, so Stiles kept his eyes on Kate to read her reaction. Surprise at first. Kate didn’t think they ranked on the same field. But her eyes narrowed quickly as she tilted her head to consider him. What had she heard in that sentence? To Stiles, Kate was the person who told Derek she loved him and then burned his family alive. It meant Derek felt crushed by Stiles, ruined and betrayed.

               Kate knew what she’d done to Derek but wouldn’t see it from the victim’s viewpoint, so what did it mean to her? She’d used him. He’d been a tool. Maybe it meant Stiles was one to use people, which was true enough. She’d been ruthless to do what she thought was right. True enough of Stiles when he remembered his last trip to Watchtower. She’d obliterated her enemies, and Stiles did that too.

               Maybe it meant Stiles really did remind Derek of Kate.

               Stiles spoke again before his face could reveal too much, “So why is it I’m in a cage with you stalking outside it? You heard them talk about me. What did you do to scare them more than I do?”

               Kate laughed. “The same thing you did, to hear them tell it. But I stuck around when the job was done instead of riding into the sunset.” Funny, Stiles thought Gregson had said much the same thing, if less directly.

               “And guys wearing animal skulls are creepy,” Derek added from where he’d leaned against the wall with  his arms crossed. Kate looked surprised. She wasn’t used to Derek anymore, didn’t know him or they he got clever after dealing Stiles the most hurtful blows. But she thought she did or it wouldn’t surprise her. How long did they have before she realized how much Derek had changed?

               “What do you want from us?” Stiles demanded, suddenly tired of this game. They were already putting up with experimentation, poor housing, and death fights. He wondered how long they were supposed to bide their time, waiting, doing nothing to escape. How long was he supposed to act like he didn’t mind being Watchtower’s prisoner again?

               “Maybe I just wanted to talk.”

               “Bullshit.”

               “Maybe I just wanted to see you squirm.”

               “True shit, but not enough.”

               “You have power no one else here does, and this is a place with a lot of power.” Kate paused, leaning forward, though still carefully out of Stiles’ reach. “I want to know how.”

               “I’m sure lots of other people in the world have magic tattoos. There are literally movies full of them, so it’s not a unique idea.”

               “You had power before you had tattoos.”

               Stiles shrugged.

               Derek said, “No, he had _me_ before he had tattoos. And before me, he had Peter.”

               Kate frowned. “You expect me to believe that’s it? Every pair here has the bond, or near enough. They’re not like you two.”

               “Yeah,” Stiles admitted. “I mean, even you had to call in berserkers from outside.” He hoped that was right. It seemed right. Kate stiffened. It was right. “You can’t leave, can you? You say my mistake was in not staying, but at least I had a choice.”

               Kate’s eyes showed green then, and the dark jaguar pattern spread over her skin. Once she had shifted, she didn’t bother shifting back. Or couldn’t. She’d gone tense, panicky, wild. She didn’t just have a temper. She had powers she couldn’t control.

               “You should get that checked.” Stiles motioned vaguely to all of Kate. She growled and stormed down the hall with Stiles’ laughter following.

**~.x.~**

Cole had Stiles shoved into the weird black-stone headspace again. _His_ weird headspace, he supposed. She’d sent Derek in with him this time, and he’d arched an eyebrow at the smooth stone Stiles pictured. It wasn’t like he chose it, or like Derek bloodstained-brick-walls Hale had any right to judge.

               “Can she hear us if we talk here?” Stiles asked.

               “I think she knows we’re talking, but not what we’re saying.”

               “Which is why she sent me too,” Wight said, appearing beside them. She looked around and arched her good eyebrow exactly as Derek had.

               “Great, just the person I needed in my head,” Stiles mumbled. “What am I supposed to be doing here anyway?”

               “Teamwork exercise,” Wight said. “It’s expected to go poorly.”

               “Wonderful.” He scowled, waiting for more instruction. She didn’t give it. He wondered why her mental self didn’t have her face fixed. To be fair, he wondered why her physical self didn’t have it fixed too.

               “There we are,” she said. “I can always tell when people start thinking about how I look.”

               “You were waiting for it?”

               “There are a few things I need to make clear to you. It’s relevant.” She frowned. “Every person who has tried to buy me away from No offered me plastic surgery as payment. They assumed he’d denied it to me because he’s twisted and evil. But even No’s first question when he found out you’d left me disfigured was if I wanted my old face or a new one. At least he had the decency to consider that I had a choice, I guess.”

               “I assume this is going somewhere.”

               Her eyes flashed white the way Derek’s might have gone red. That wasn’t something she could do in person. Something to do with this place, maybe, but illusion or power?

               “Cole was the first to offer me something else, to assume I’d already made my choice instead of assuming it had been taken from me since there was no reason I could ever want anything but to be beautiful again. Even when you look at me, I can tell you’re wondering _why_ I still look this way, how I could want it or who denied me anything else. And you’re the one who changed me in the first place.”

               “I am still not getting why you like the ugly face better, though I am getting the feeling that you do.”

               “You know the power in faces, Joker. You use yours. You used Smiler’s. You should have let No do that to you. The smile would work better on your face than his.”

               “No, I’m good, thanks.”

               “People used to treat me like I was weak because I was pretty.”

               Stiles scoffed. “So, what, you’re happy because they’re condescending in a slightly different way now?”

               “I didn’t say I was happy. I said I made a choice. I could be a bauble kept around to run errands or be attached to another werewolf eventually. Or I could be a tool. I’m here because I’m useful, not because anyone wants me.”

               “You’d rather be used than, I don’t know, have personal agency?”

               “I was a tool before too. Not everyone wants to be a leader, Joker.”

               “What did Cole offer you?” Derek asked. The damned wall had appeared behind him, but he seemed to be ignoring it.

               “Power, greater usefulness, a job.”

               “This?” Derek motioned to the headspace around them.

               “I dealt in information and communication before. What better improvement than telepathy?”

               Stiles said, “Okay, you’re a nut job too, I get it. Why was it so important for you to tell me this?”

               “You’ve been worried about me hating you. I did. I got over it. We need to work together now, so I need you to understand that except as a tool with properties I lack, you don’t matter to me. I don’t hate you. I don’t like you. You’re just an object that I will work with.”

               Stiles scowled. He didn’t like being called a tool. He was the one who used tools. This place reminded him of that even more than the waking world. “So what is it we’re expected to do?”

               “You obviously know you’re under surveillance, so you haven’t been planning your escape openly. We need you to hold off on any plans you’ve come up with in secret.”

               “Yeah, I guessed that when Nike was all, ‘Let Cole do the psychic thing to you for a while.’”

               “She said that?”

               “Not in those words, or that weird ghost lady tone.”

               Wight shrugged acceptance. “Cole tried to tell you part of her plan before, but you weren’t listening.”

               “Of course I was listening.” Stiles made a face because he still thought her ‘plan’ was senseless and dumb. “Cole wants to force the whole world to have super powers so that monsters won’t be so scary and everyone can be friends.”

               “Sort of, except that would obviously just escalate the conflict already present by bringing it to the light and then giving the larger army additional firepower.”

               Derek sat down, apparently content to let the others handle the talking.

               “So Cole wants to create her own supernatural human elite?” Stiles guessed. “Because that sounds neither better than Watchtower’s plans nor like something the board would have turned down because, I mean, who doesn’t want super powers?”

               “No, that’s ridiculous. She’s trying to make things better, not worse. She wants to create a sort of peacekeeping force to prevent all-out war and extermination.”

               Stiles narrowed his eyes. “So... she wants to create her own supernatural human elite.” He nodded slowly to emphasize that he hadn’t been wrong at all.

               Wight made a frustrated sound. She didn’t look much more frustrated than usual, except that she threw her hands in the air. Maybe poker face was one of the advantages of her broken face. “This has nothing to do with the stupid bond-power serum, Joker. It doesn’t even work most of the time, no matter how much Cole pretends it’s going to change the world eventually. A group of negotiators would be most trusted if it had normal humans and supernaturals both, proving by example that the two can work together.”

               “Oh. So she just wants regular bonded pairs.”

               “No, she doesn’t even want them bonded because the bond gives the human powers.”

               “But I have powers. What does she want me for?” Stiles asked.

               “People living between the two extremes would also be important examples for compromise, though she doesn’t think you’d make a good peacekeeper, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

               “Oh, good, I was worried she’d lost her mind wherever Haha, No left his.”

               Wight just scowled. Stiles noticed she had to work extra hard to make the frown recognizable and tried to look suitably impressed.

               “Fine,” he said, “So her plan is to make everyone friends. That still doesn’t explain me.”

               Wight sighed. “This is where she starts to sound more like No.”

               “Oh, goodie.”

               “You’ve heard of the phoenix?”

               Stiles nodded. “Magic bird, dies in a fire and rises from the ashes to live again.”

               “Well, you’re supposed to be the fire to make ashes of the Watchtower.”

               Stiles would have answered with something witty, but Derek started laughing. It was the sort of laughter Stiles might have used to psych out his enemies, but Derek had come by it naturally. He buried his face in his hands to muffle it, but his shoulders shook openly. Curling in on himself could only disguise the laughter so far.

               Wight turned slowly from staring at Derek to a sidelong look at Stiles. “Explain?”

               “His family burned to death in a fire started by a woman he compared me to not two days ago.”

               “Ah,” she said. “My condolences.”

               Derek wasn’t listening. He was too busy laughing.

**~.x.~**

Kate hadn’t come personally this time, but Stiles still got the feeling they were being led to the arena. “So we’re still doing this,” he said, not bothering to make it a question. He didn’t expect an answer, but one of the guards shrugged apologetically. Stiles memorized everything he could about that guard. Young, male, Middle Eastern, twitchy right hand, emotional nerves not nerve damage. Stiles got the feeling this guy would root for him and Derek. He got the feeling this guy wasn’t alone.

               Derek was back to his usual self, which meant he usually only found his sense of humor if it was at Stiles’ expense. He frowned now. He’d lost himself in their last fight. And now there was something wrong with his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t even an alpha anymore. Stiles wanted to reassure him but wasn’t sure how, and wasn’t sure he could manage it without lying anyway. When Derek looked at him before they passed through the gate over the sand, Stiles kept his expression carefully somber and nodded confidently. They had this. They wouldn’t enjoy this, but they had it. Derek nodded back.

               The guard with the twitchy hand gave a thumbs up that Stiles returned with a wink while Derek looked the other way. Maybe playing celebrity could win him new allies. Or information on what had been done with his old allies. Or both. Or, if he was really lucky, pizza.

               The other pair was already in their hanging cage. No one Stiles recognized. They looked like a standard set, scars and all. The human would favor his right side, but probably not as much as he seemed to be now. No way he’d have survived long enough for all those scars if he couldn’t run. Stiles could pretend to believe the bluff to get in close. The wolf stood on the human’s left, leaving the supposed weakness wide open.

               Stiles pulled off his bandage, and his opponents flinched. So they knew about him.

               “Names?” Stiles said. He liked not knowing. It was easier not knowing. But no one liked knowing, and throwing his opponents off balance was as important as uncovering his talisman. “I said, NAMES.”

               They stood up straighter at his shout. “Backstab and Tiptoe,” the human said.

               Stiles nodded curtly. “Derek and Joker,” he said. Beside him, Derek tensed, but Beast wasn’t who he wanted to be. They could find him a new nickname later.

               The wolf—Backstab? Stiles thought she would be Backstab—nodded. “We know who you are.”

               The gong sounded. The princes dropped.

               Stiles wasn’t done, so he landed heavily in the sand rather than roll as he landed. He didn’t want to move just yet. “Are you afraid?” he asked.

               “Yes, but our only chance is to kill you.”

               “I know. I’m sorry.”

               She nodded.

               Stiles stunned them both and walked forward. They were close enough that his time wouldn’t run out before he reached them. He rammed his foot into Tiptoe’s right knee twice and left it bending the wrong way. Now his limp wouldn’t be fake. Well, in a moment, he’d also be dead, but whatever.

               Backstab had come to while Stiles crippled her partner. Stiles knew there was a reset period on his talisman. He couldn’t just stun her continuously until he was done. The reset seemed to vary by individual. For Stiles’ father, it was a few minutes, for Derek it was several hours. Stiles didn’t try to attack or defend, just stared at Backstab and cocked his head. She hesitated, turning to block an expected attack from Derek, so Stiles jabbed at her throat.

               It didn’t take superhuman speed or strength to fight a werewolf. If it did, hunters would be shit out of luck. All it took to fight a werewolf was manipulating your advantages. Stiles was good with his. Backstab stumbled backward, clutching for her wounded throat, and Stiles grabbed her by her hair and rammer her face into his knee.

               Claws would make this part easier. Derek just tore through his enemies. Stiles wondered if there was a way to make something sharp with tattoos. He’d tried to imagine a blade mentally during Cole’s tests. He didn’t need a whole dagger, maybe just a finger. One clean cut to the throat would be much simpler than beating someone until they stopped breathing. He settled for snapping Backstab’s neck and returning to Tiptoe. He’d fainted. Stiles rolled his eyes and gave him the same treatment he had his partner.

               Stiles turned back to Derek. He hadn’t moved.

               Stiles had just killed a human and a werewolf on his own, and neither had lain a finger on him. He shuddered with the thrill of that as he rejoined Derek. There had been a time in their first arena when Stiles thought the fights had become too easy for him. That had been agony compared to this. He’d strolled in and destroyed Backstab and Tiptoe with barely a thought. Worse, he hadn’t _felt_ anything. Murder shouldn’t be so easy. He shuddered again. He’d thought he was a monster before. He’d had no idea.

               Derek almost kissed him in the showers, but Stiles pulled away. He’d made a promise.

**~.x.~**

Derek pulled Stiles awake, pushing away the pillow Stiles tried to cling to and pressing their foreheads together. His eyes glowed. Stiles’ breath caught, and he pulled easily out of Derek’s grip. Derek dimmed his eyes. His _gold_ eyes. Derek had known, had felt it. Stiles’ reaction was all the confirmation he needed. He wasn’t just not alpha. There was something wrong with him, really wrong. Once a werewolf had killed an innocent and turned his eyes blue, he couldn’t go back. That wasn’t how it worked.

               The door opened before Stiles could think of anything to say. Derek turned as if surprised, as if he hadn’t heard anyone coming. Shit. What had they done to him? Stiles didn’t think he’d been away from Derek during the time they’d been captured, except maybe that first night when they sewed a kanima scale to Stiles’ cheek. Maybe they’d done something to weaken Derek too. Why had it taken so long to start though? How long had it even been? Stiles wasn’t good with time even back home where he had calendars.

               “Cole’s called for you,” the guard said. It was the one with the twitchy right hand, though it was still now. Stiles thought the man had been assigned to them for a while, but Stiles had been ignoring his guards. A mistake. He was supposed to be the guy who figured out the bad guys plots based on a few minute details, a modern-day Sherlock Holmes. Stiles couldn’t afford to ignore details. People, he corrected himself. He couldn’t afford to ignore people.

               Stiles stood, brushing off his pants like that would make a difference. Derek stood too but stood still, waiting on Stiles. At least Stiles knew he could fight without Derek. If Derek lost his powers, Stiles could keep them alive. Probably. If someone as strong as the Riders faced them, Stiles wasn’t so sure. He needed to go after the wolf first from now on. No more showing off. He shook his head to clear it and followed their guard out of the room. They weren’t fighting today. It could wait.

               “What’s your name?” Stiles asked the guard he hoped he could convince to help him someday when he was ready to fight his way out. _If_ he ever was. Could he escape without Derek’s strength?

               Of course he could. He’d almost done it once. With Cat. Shit. He wondered if he could find Setter and Spade. They would be his only supernatural allies.

               The guard watched Stiles for a moment before answering, “Jax.”

               Stiles nodded, didn’t say anything else. The other guards eyed them both. Suspicion or jealousy? Stiles thought he spotted bits of both from different people. They obviously had no problem holding him prisoner, but Setter hadn’t either. She’d believed he would join Watchtower eventually, and his time as a prisoner was a necessary evil. What did these people believe?

               At Cole’s lab, the guards split so some followed them in and others stayed outside the door. No one talked, so it must have been pre-arranged. Stiles was pretty sure this happened every time while he ignored everyone he’d arbitrarily deemed unimportant. Jax followed them in.

               “We’re going to try something new today,” Cole said.

               Good. Stiles was sick of chiseling walls.

               “It’s a sort of mental endurance test.” The way she said that made Stiles think this was much less good. Maybe he’d be better off with the walls.

               Derek grimaced. Had he come to the same conclusion as Stiles or had he been through this before?

               “If you want, we can make Joker go first,” Cole offered.

               “Do it.” Derek had definitely been through this before. He didn’t smirk the way he did when he poked fun at Stiles. He frowned and rubbed a hand against his leg like he was trying to clean it off. Ashamed, maybe.

               “This isn’t going to be fun, is it?” Stiles made a face.

               “Not for you,” Cole agreed. “Especially since I expect you to be resistant after No’s treatments.”

               “What treatments?” Haha, No had never done anything of the sort to Stiles.

               “That was a euphemism for physical and mental torture. This will hurt until you can’t hurt anymore, and I happen to know you can hurt for a long time.”

               “Oh. Fun. Pass.”

               “We’ll need to tie you down for this.”

               “No, we’ve been good. Unnecessarily good, unreasonably good. I have no idea why we’ve been so damn cooperative to be honest, but this is not the kind of reward you give good prisoners.”

               Cole waved a hand—literally waved a hand to dismiss the subject like she was some kind of monarch dealing with fucking peasants—and said, “We’ve filled your room with calming frequencies too low for either the human or werewolf ear to pick up consciously. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t been killed in your arena matches since we’ve kept you so docile.” She shrugged like it would be no big deal if they lay down and let someone kill them.

               Stiles wondered if that could be weakening Derek. If so, they would know. They would have tested this. If not—

               Jax stepped forward, but he was holding something. He smiled apologetically before spraying some sort of gas all over Stiles’ and Derek faces. Some sort of knockout gas, Stiles guessed as he lost consciousness.

               They woke predictably tied up with Cole typing away at her laptop. Stiles’ temple hurt even though they knocked him out with gas, not a blow to the head. It hurt wrong anyway. Cole didn’t explain the test any further or demand information as Haha, No would have. She just continued typing, and at some point, her typing included a command because Stiles’ skin caught fire.

               It didn’t really, but he felt it. The flesh burned and peeled, pulling away from muscle, shriveling and dying. When it took his eyes, he went blind for a moment before his body realized his eyes were undamaged. It was an illusion. Telling himself that didn’t help. When Cole put in a pair of ear plugs, Stiles realized he must have been screaming. All he could feel in his throat was the fire, not the vibrations of his voice. If he focused, he could hear his screams, but the pain was enough to block out sound. His eyes watered so heavily he wondered if he’d gone blind again or just couldn’t see past the tears.

               Somehow, it all reminded him of the arena. Detachment. He’d killed so effortlessly, emotionlessly. He _knew_ he was in agony now, but he couldn’t see or hear, and could barely feel it. It was like it was happening to someone else. Stiles had spent years thinking he was broken, but that was nothing compared to this. At some point, he started laughing. He still screamed—his body demanded it—but he laughed too. Cole thought she could torture him. Cole thought she could torture _him._ He was the fucking Joker. She couldn’t touch him.

               He wound up on the floor. Movement around him. No more pain, or maybe he’d forgotten how to feel it. He blinked salty tears from his eyes. There was a hand on his back, another on his shoulder, lifting, urging. Familiar hands. Derek’s. Stiles followed, let himself be moved.

               Sound, around him. Grunts, swears, impacts, and gunfire. Stiles guessed it was finally time to fight their way out. He wished, for once, he could plan his escape instead of winging it.

               Someone came at them. Uniformed, armed, but only with a cudgel. No. A piece of something, broken, a makeshift cudgel only. Stiles laughed. Fucker couldn’t even arm himself properly and expected to take out the Joker. The man fell. Stiles never touched him, never saw who had.

               “What’s wrong with him?”

               _What’s wrong with who?_ The words didn’t come out right. His lips and tongue wouldn’t cooperate, and all he got was frantic giggling, higher and higher pitched until he wheezed to a stop. He was the Joker, killer of obstacles and destroyer of werewolves, and he couldn’t remember how to make thoughts into words. It was hilarious.

               “Cole said it was pain, but something... I don’t know.” Derek’s voice rumbled, the vibration spreading into Stiles. It felt like coming home. “I’ve been through the pain before. It doesn’t do _this.”_

               “Maybe it affects Stiles differently?”

               “No.”

               “You can’t be sure—”

               “No. I know Stiles better than I know myself sometimes. This is more than pain.”

               Stiles smiled. Derek was so sweet.

               They were moving again, Derek supporting Stiles’ weight because his limbs worked about as well as his words. Scott was there, so Stiles waved at him, sort of. He wondered when Scott arrived. Attack or sleepover? He didn’t think Scott would like sleeping here.

               “If we leave, it just goes back to how it was before.” Derek said. Stiles didn’t remember the start of this conversation. He assumed it had one.

               “If we stay, we’ll all be dead,” Scott insisted, hissing above the distant sounds of fighting.

               “They’re fighting each other. The whole ‘Pit is in chaos. Maybe we can come out on top.” That wasn’t Derek. Stiles rolled his eyes to find the speaker.

               _Hi Jax._ Jax didn’t think hi back. Rude. _Where’s Peter?_ Stiles could really use some telepathy right now. He couldn’t decide if real Joker had telepathy or not. When had he been most monstrous? When he was bonded to Peter? To Derek? When he shattered the bond, became a soldier of Watchtower, and stopped feeling anything at all when he killed people? Probably the last one. Joker didn’t have a bond, he decided. Joker didn’t have telepathy. Joker made do with what he did have. He flopped an arm about to get someone’s attention, so Derek made soothing noises at him. No, that wasn’t what he wanted at all. Joker was having trouble with this whole brain-scrambled thing.

               Was that what happened? Cole scrambled his brain? Maybe he scrambled himself.

               They were talking again. “I’m fine.” Derek.

               “You’re hurt.” Scott. “You’re not healing.”

               Stiles giggled. “Don’t worry, he’s broken too.” He gasped. “Words. Fuck. Yes. Words. I made them.”

               “He’s coming around,” Scott said, completely unnecessarily. “Stiles, can you understand me?”

               Stiles squinted his eyes. “You don’t kill people.”

               “What?”

               Derek sighed. “He doesn’t understand you because you don’t kill people. I think he’s got words but isn’t fully present.”

               “Do you know where we are?” Scott tried instead.

               “With Derek. And noise.” Obviously. Stiles scrunched his nose, but the ears were where noise came in. So that didn’t help.

               “He’s completely lost it.” Jax was an asshat. “I’m not an asshat.”

               “Oh, good, I said that out loud.”

               Derek helped Stiles stand from where they’d crouched. “We need to keep moving.”

               They moved. There was still noise, and Stiles’ feet kept catching on the ground even though he told them to pick up better. A lot of the movement was people, probably had been from the start, and he just hadn’t recognized them. Scott was with Cat but not Allison or Peter. Jax was with Setter but not Gregson or Spade.

               “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Stiles was very proud of that sentence.

               “He always catch on this slow?” Asshat Jax again. “Still not an asshat.”

               “Yes, we’re...” Derek frowned and looked to Scott. “We’re leaving.”

               “But I’ve hardly even killed anyone yet. How are they supposed to be scared of me if I can’t even walk?”

               Jax laughed. “Trust me, they’re scared.”

               Someone tried to shoot Jax, but they died first. Jax stumbled, stared at Stiles, wide eyed and shaking for a moment, and soldiered on.

               “Something’s _very_ wrong, isn’t it?”

               “Yes.” Derek tensed. He’d been tense already, but somehow he tightened around Stiles. “Stiles, we need... There are men ahead. They’re going to hurt us.” Stiles saw them, barricaded behind what looked like tables, armed. One of them threw a grenade as Stiles watched, but it flew back toward him and blew the lot of them to pieces.

               “Fuck,” Derek breathed.

               “It’s me isn’t it. I’m wrong.”

               “Yes.” No hesitation. “Ahead, more bad guys, but there are good guys mixed in. Gregson is there. We need to protect Gregson.”

               “Gregson can take care of herself.” The soldiers around Gregson fell. Stiles hadn’t seen her strike them.

               Gregson joined them. Dumbo and Spade were with her. They seemed to be friends now. That was nice. Gregson was talking. Stiles tried to focus on the words but still only caught the end bits. “She knew it was unstable. She told us it wouldn’t be ready for weeks, at the soonest. Years, more likely.”

               “Maybe she wanted it unstable.” Derek. Stiles leaned toward the voice. Derek was warm. Derek was safe. Derek was home.

               “We were supposed to be working together. I told her we could keep the jaguar out of her hair.”

               “I don’t think she really works with anyone.”

               “There are a lot of people in this conversation, and I lost track,” Stiles said.

               “I know. I’m sorry. We’ll get you help.”

               “Can we afford to get him help? Is he safe? Should we even be with him?”

               Derek growled. No words, just growled. Very scary. Stiles giggled. He liked Derek scary.

               “We _will_ help him,” Scott said, voice firm. Scott helped everyone.

               “Stiles,” Derek said, “some bad guys are closing in on us.”

               “I’m not worried.” He knew Derek would take care of him. The bag guys never closed in, really, so it worked out regardless.

               “Fuck,” Derek breathed again. “Oh, God, fuck.” He held Stiles close like a grenade to keep anything from catching on the pin.


	3. Hurt Too Much

Stiles woke in something soft. Squishy-warmth all around him. Blankets, mattress, bedding. He opened his eyes, squeezed them shut, and opened them again before trying to sit. This was his bed, his room, his home. They’d gotten him out. His brain was a mess, blurred memories and fleeting thoughts. He knew there’d been an escape but couldn’t catch hold of the details.

               “Derek?” The room was empty, but that didn’t mean the house had to be.

               Sure enough, Derek was at the door, eyebrows furrowed, stance wary. Cole had done something to Stiles. It still worried Derek, whatever it was. Stiles felt his mind slowly switching into gear, lining up thoughts and movements. Scott joined Derek at the door before moving ahead of him into the room.

               “What happened?” Stiles asked.

               “Sorry, I have to start with: do you know who you are?” Scott sat at the edge of the bed, careful not to spook Stiles or careful not to get too close.

               “Stiles.”

               “Do you know where you are?”

               “My bedroom.”

               “Do you know how you got here?”

               “If I did, I wouldn’t have had to ask what happened. I know you came for us, but it’s all really fuzzy.”

               “Do you know what they did to you?”

               “About the same as before except I got more weird sound experiments.”

               Wrong answer. Wrong answer? Scott’s face had fallen. He flinched like he had something to explain, something painful. But how could the truth be the wrong answer? Maybe he meant right at the end. Whatever pain spectrum Cole put Stiles through had unhinged him for a while. He remembered Derek supporting him, not being able to communicate or think clearly. He kept calling Jax an asshat without realizing he’d spoken aloud even though he was pretty sure Jax had helped save his life and taken his side in the fight to escape.

               “Stiles, I’m sorry we didn’t reach you sooner. We had... trouble here too, and I was too late to stop her.”

               Mentally, Stiles checked himself over. He had all his limbs and digits. Both talismans were present and working. There was still some confusion, but he seemed more able to think, speak, and move than before. Finally, unable to find what Scott meant on his own, he asked, “Stop who from what?”

               Scott’s eyes darted, searching for the right way to explain this. His mouth hung open a little. He was lost. “Jenneva Cole. She was experimenting on you this time.” Stiles nodded. He knew that. “She was experimenting on others too, trying to create a serum humans could substitute for the power gained in the kind of bonds Sorokin forced on people.”

               “His name is No.”

               “You shouldn’t care,” Derek snapped.

               Scott continued, “When Allison and Peter made it back, they told us Cole claimed to have it ready, but that wasn’t true. She was still developing it, experimenting on her prisoners. It’s been killing people.”

               Stiles didn’t bother to say he wasn’t surprised. Killing people was what Watchtower did.

               “She gave it to you,” Scott said, “While she had you unconscious.”

               “She called for us when surveillance picked up Scott and Cat approaching,” Derek explained, still hunched in the doorway. “She kept saying she’d run out of time, that maybe if she could break you down too much to fight it out, the serum would take. When Wight pulled her out, she was muttering about the phoenix needing it’s flame. I think she lost it.” Those were an awful lot of words for Derek these days.

               “Can you speak to Gregson? She understands better than we do. She was working with Cole, trying to make sure Cole didn’t kill you.”

               Stiles nodded. Of course he could talk to Gregson. Derek turned and motioned someone forward. Gregson stepped tentatively. She was wearing an old pair of Stiles’ sweats and had a bandage over her left eye.

               “Sir?” She was wary, afraid. She’d always been cautious around Stiles, but not like this. Something had happened.

               “Gregson.”

               “I hear you don’t remember much, sir, so I’m going to explain for you. This isn’t the first time you woke since getting here, but it’s the first you’ve been fully coherent. This,” she reached to her eye, “didn’t happen in the battle. You did this to me yesterday when I helped you sit up, and you caught sight of your reflection.” She took the bandage off. Her eye wasn’t so much ruined as gone. “You didn’t touch me, sir. You just shouted, and my eye bled out. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

               Stiles knew his mouth was hanging open. He couldn’t shut it. “I’m sorry.”

               “As you say, sir.”

               “What, no, don’t ‘as you say’ me. I’m not full of shit. I’m sorry.”

               “I’m sure you regret accidentally injuring one of your followers, but I think that’s different from what you think you said. Sir.”

               “No, that doesn’t make sense.”

               “What is my name?”

               “Gregson.”

               “What is my _first_ name?”

               “I don’t know. You prefer I call you Gregson.”

               “Just because you call me one name doesn’t mean you can’t ask for the other. You don’t think of me as a person. You think of me as a tool, and you’re sorry to have damaged your tool, not to have injured a person.”

               Stiles winced and tried not to melt anyone’s eyes.

               “It’s Sara. Maybe now you’ll even remember that.”

               Stiles nodded wordlessly. He was pretty sure he’d only make Gregson angrier no matter what he said. Since she was down an eye, she had a right to be angry.

               Gregson nodded like everything was settled and started explaining, “Cole wanted to use the serum on you from the start, but I pushed her to wait. With you as a prisoner, I claimed to be your representative within Watchtower. I hope you don’t mind, sir. I studied what she did with the serum. She’s tried everything to make it bond with the host. Drugs, runes, sigils, rituals, torture, sound therapy, psychic tuning. How well it works seems to depend on the host, on how much serum she gives them, and on what the serum awakens in the host.”

               She paused long enough for Stiles to get in, “Are you saying she River Tam’d me?”

               “I don’t know what that means, sir.”

               Derek and Scott both shrugged. Stiles rolled his eyes, nice and exaggerated as they deserved, but they all flinched back like he was going to, well, going to kill them with his brain.

               “Why would she use a serum? Almost all of her experiments that I saw were related to the psychic and psychological effects of sounds.”

               “I don’t know, sir. She was very secretive and wouldn’t reveal what the serum was to me even though she didn’t think I would understand it.”

               “Would you have?”

               “Fifty-fifty. I studied chemistry and biology in school, but I’m sure they flunked me when I was hired and stopped showing up.”

               “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

               “I know, sir. It would make sense that calling it a ‘serum’ was a cover Cole intended to keep anyone from catching on to her real work. She used frequency therapy on all of her subjects, so the injections could have been for show or to help the subjects survive the frequencies. But that’s speculation. What I know is that she tried a mix of techniques to make her serum work on you, but based on what happened yesterday, I’m a little afraid for my other eye if I show you.”

               “Get out.”

               Gregson scrambled away without even a ‘yes, sir.’ To be fair, apparently he’d melted her eye right out of the socket only a day earlier on accident. Stiles remembered Derek pointing out threats to him in the ‘Pit, remembered them never reaching him. Fuck, Stiles must have killed them. He laughed, putting Scott and Derek on edge. Derek had used Stiles as a weapon. Good.

               Stiles pulled off the covers and moved to stand. Scott had to catch him when his legs gave out.

               “You’re already getting stronger,” Scott said. “Mom thinks you’ll be back to normal in a few weeks.”

               Weeks was too long, but modern medicine, even from Melissa McCall, couldn’t take Stiles’ healing talisman into account. With any luck, it’d only be a matter of days. Scott helped him to the mirror, but Stiles wasn’t sure what would have upset him so much that he destroyed Gregson’s eye. He looked fine. There was a new scar on his right temple, cutting through the corner of his eyebrow and into his hairline a little. It could almost have been a compass with eight arrows shooting in all directions from a small center circle, but only the cardinal directions shot straight. Three of the others rounded clockwise back to the circle. The last, southeast, he supposed, wound around the downward arrow. Stiles chuckled, it look like a club, the card suit, and Cole had carved it carefully, but deeply into his face. It was already healed over. He couldn’t find anything else wrong though. He even pulled off his clothes and patted himself down to be sure.

               “I don’t understand,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

               “There’s a really obvious scar on your face.” Scott pointed to Stiles’ reflection.

               “So?”

               Scott raised his hands. “It just bothered you more yesterday.”

               “You were outraged she’d dared mark you,” Derek said.

               “She did worse than mark my face.” Stiles waved a hand. His mirror shattered, glass flying in all directions. Though not a piece hit Stiles, several embedded themselves in Scott and Derek’s skin. “Oh my God.” Stiles took a step back, and his foot landed on glass. “I didn’t, I don’t, I...” The glass flew back to the mirror, returning perfectly into place. The shards under Stiles’ foot dragged a gash along the skin there on their way. The mirror returned without even a scratch, but Scott still had smudges of blood where he’d already healed from glass cuts, and Stiles was bleeding from his foot.

               “It’s okay,” Scott said. “There’s a reason Derek and I are the ones here.”

               “What if I kill someone?”

               “You killed a lot of people already,” Derek pointed out. He hadn’t healed yet where the glass had hit him. He didn’t seem to have noticed.

               Scott gave Derek a warning look. “We think it’s getting weaker. The first day, they all died. Yesterday, only Gregson’s eye was hurt. Today, it was just a mirror. You’ll be okay. You just have to learn to control what’s left of the power when it stabilizes.”

               “Assuming it stabilizes,” Derek said.

               “Get out, Derek,” Scott snapped, eyes flashing. Derek left.

               “He’s right.”

               “No, he’s focusing on the worst possible scenario. I know it might not be okay, and I know we have to plan for that, but we’re planning for you getting better too. Okay?”

               Stiles nodded.

               “We’ve _always_ been planning for both you getting worse and you getting better.”

               “I know, Scotty.”

               Stiles studied the scar on his face. It was dark, like Cole had rubbed charcoal into it. Maybe she had. Stiles thought he’d read about that being a tattooing technique somewhere. This was a talisman too, though not one he’d chosen. Tattoos could cover scars, he knew, but he wondered if he really wanted Trick to hide this for him. It looked, despite everything, it looked fucking cool. At least the monsters carving into him had good taste. At least the monster he’d become looked good with twisted art on his face.

**~.x.~**

Days passed before anyone would tell Stiles more about what happened both in the ‘Pit and in Beacon Hills. He had to get back on his feet first, regain enough control of his hands to make his own food and feed himself first. He had to lose enough power that he couldn’t have brain-murdered anyone if he wanted to first. Idly, he wondered if that would bother Cole, that Stiles lost nearly all of the power she forced upon him, even with a new mark to focus it, maybe because of the mark to focus it. The mark was also, probably, why he hadn’t accidentally torn his own body to shreds as apparently most of Cole’s telekinetics had. Good for Stiles. That didn’t sound like fun at all.

               Stiles cornered Scott. As an alpha werewolf, Scott could have gotten away, but he’d known this moment was coming, kept promising to talk to Stiles when he was well enough to take it, physically, emotionally, and psychically. With a nod and a motion for Stiles to follow him, Scott moved where they could sit—just because Stiles could stand didn’t mean he found it easy to do for too long.

               “There were a lot of different factions present in the Sandpit,” Scott started. “I don’t know what all of them were, but Gregson mostly talked about loyalists to the board, Wind who served Sorokin, Equalizers which is what Cole and hers call themselves, those who were scared enough of Kate to follow her instead of anyone else, and then the ones loyal to you. They started calling themselves Jesters.”

               “That’s kind of stupid, but kind of awesome. But mostly stupid.”

               “I guess so. Anyway, we needed to get you back. Derek said there was supposed to be a signal for the right time, but we couldn’t wait any longer. I guess there was an alarm, and everything went to hell. Everyone was fighting. I thought it looked like a war zone when we got you out of the first one, but this was...” Scott shook his head.

               “Who won?”

               “No one won. The place was destroyed. Standard procedure, or something. A lot of people got out though.”

               “Any chance Kate died?” Stiles asked.

               “Never saw her. Don’t count on it.”

               “Cole?”

               “Last we saw, Wight was pulling her out. Don’t count on her being dead either.”

               “Haha, No?”

               “ _Him_ I saw escape, but we couldn’t leave you. Derek tried pointing him out to you to get you to kill him, but you just started singing that damn song every time anyone mentioned him.”

               “I have wicked magic murder powers for _one day,_ and I’m too loopy to kill the bastard I hate most in the world. Figures.”

               Scott shook his head, more to himself than to Stiles. “Gregson thinks most of the board got out, but they’re bad at working together. They may fracture the loyalists instead of uniting them.”

               “Any chance the tensions were bad enough to spread to other Watchtower facilities and just tear the whole thing down?”

               “Spread, yes. Tear down, no. Derek and Cat have been working with your Watchtower friends, trying to form a plan. They don’t have much yet.”

               “What about the rest of you? And what happened that you had to spoil some plan I didn’t know about and break us out early resulting in a chaotic battle and my new super powers?”

               Scott drew in a deep breath. He practically trembled. “How much do you know about the nemeton?”

               “Magic tree out in the words. Darach used its power to convert sacrifices into power for her. You, Allison, and Lydia sacrificed yourselves to it in a creepy drowning ritual. And it’s some sort of supernatural beacon.”

               Scott nodded. That about summed it up. “There was an evil spirit sealed in the nemeton’s roots. When we gave the tree power again, we accidentally let the spirit out too. It’s called a nogitsune, and it... It possessed Allison.”

               Stiles mouth fell open. No. That was wrong. Home was where he came to be safe. Allison was the strongest person he knew, the only person he was absolutely certain no one would ever defeat.

               “We have someone helping us fight it, but... there aren’t as many of us as there used to be. We needed you back.”

               “You need me to fight.”

               “No.” Scott shook his head and set a hand on Stiles shoulder. It was warm, comforting. “We need you to research and plan.” He smiled just a little, and Stiles realized Scott had been pushing him not because he couldn’t wrap his head around what Stiles had become but because he knew who Stiles would always be. Scott was his best friend, his brother, even after two years of Stiles lashing out.

               Scott stood up. “Come on,” he said. “There’s someone you need to meet.”

               They left the house. Stiles had barely been out of his room for days, and barely out of his cell for who-knows-how-long before that. Scott drove Stiles’ Jeep, leaving his bike and helmet behind at the Stilinski house, and took Stiles to the veterinary clinic.

               “I take it Deaton’s dealt with something like this before?”

               “Not quite. Just... follow me.”

               Inside, Deaton was talking to a young woman close to Scott and Stiles’ age. She was pretty, Japanese, with long black hair and leggings covered in Marvel Comics characters. She also looked at Scott with an unmistakable light in her eyes that Scott returned. It had been a long time since Scott and Allison broke up. He deserved to find someone new, and someone who was obviously an adorably huge nerd.

               “Stiles, this is Kira. Kira, Stiles.” Scott had definitely fallen hard for this girl. He said her name like it was made of light. Stiles wondered if he’d asked her out yet. “She’s a kitsune, a Japanese fox spirit. And her mother was there the last time the nogitsune was free.”

               Kira held out her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you, Stiles. I know this isn’t the best way to meet someone, with the town in danger and people already dying and one of your best friends possessed by a dark kitsune, but I promise I’ll do whatever I can to save her. To save everyone.”

               “You talk fast,” Stiles said. He grinned and shook Kira’s hand. “Keep at it. Tell me everything you know.” So she did.

**~.x.~**

Peter found Stiles later, in his room. He was alone, though his father was down the hall in his office. He walked through the door just like he belonged even though Stiles was certain his father never gave Peter permission for anything of the sort. He guessed Peter just didn’t think entering through the window was suave.

               “Did you find Allison yet?” Scott had told him Peter was looking. Apparently he was good at finding things.

               “I’m afraid she eludes me.” A shake of his head shared Peter’s annoyance. “She’s well-versed in how to deal with werewolves.”

               “She’s well-versed in how to deal with everyone.”

               “Not you, not anymore.” Peter set a finger against Stiles’ jaw to turn his head and look at the scar. He raised his finger to brush against it and slide down Stiles’ temple. “Sorry I missed it. I hear you were something to behold.”

               “I barely remember it and wasn’t coherent enough for the whole killing thing to be very cool.” Stiles would have shrugged or grinned but wasn’t ready to end Peter’s touch. He narrowed his eyes instead. “I...” No, he’d almost picked the wrong words, the wrong person to make it about. Or the right one, but the wrong to show. He didn’t know anymore. “I’m tired,” he said, knowing Peter would realize he’d changed what he said. “I want to have something just because I want it.”

               Peter tilted his head. “Do you?”

               Stiles nodded. “I’ve been scared for long enough. I’m sick of it. Just because we’re all still dying isn’t reason not to live.”

               “No, Stiles, I meant...” Peter took hold of Stiles jaw, firm enough he couldn’t move his face but soft enough not to hurt. “Do you _really_ want _me?”_

               Stiles looked him in the eye. “I want a lot of things,” he said eventually. “You’re just the first I’m going to take.”

               Peter smirked. He knew. Of course he knew. He knew Stiles better than almost anyone. “I know you’re still in love with Derek. The thing you don’t seem to grasp is that I don’t care.”

               “Oh. Oh, you don’t—I could’ve saved a lot of trouble with the half-truths to avoid lies, huh?”

               “Yes. For the record, the reason we haven’t had sex has absolutely nothing to do with him, at least on my end.” He let go of Stiles’ face.

               “Shit, you’re straight, aren’t you?”

               Peter laughed. “Nothing so inflexible as that. Tell me your change of heart, and I’ll tell you the state of mine.”

               “Did you just say you’d show me yours if I showed you mine?”

               “Oh, are we doing that too?”

               Stiles shook his head. “I promised to give Derek space. He’s having as much trouble moving on as I am, and what better way to keep away from him than to be with someone else? I was hanging onto him, onto hope of him coming back to me. It’s time I moved on.”

               “To his uncle.”

               Stiles rolled his eyes. “Your turn, old man.”

               Peter set a hand over his heart and feigned shock. “Old? Stiles, you wound me. I’m ageless. And a werewolf, so assuming things go my way, I’ll stay young-ish longer than you do.”

               “I assume things usually go your way?”

               “Well, there was a big flaming setback a while back, and then that time you set me on fire and my nephew slashed my throat. But otherwise, I’ve done well enough for myself.”

               “I had help with the fire. Just tell me why you don’t like me.”

               “You see, Stiles, I’m not that picky about my partners. I only require one thing from them: that they be absolutely loyal to me.” He leaned forward into Stiles space and whispered the last in his ear. “And you are not.”

               “Yeah, well, we’re both assholes, what can I say?” He took advantage of Peter’s looming to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Let me know if your standards drop.”

               Peter smiled. “Let me know if your loyalties shift.” He leaned forward to kiss Stiles and not on his cheek. By the time he pulled their lips apart, Stiles was breathless. In his defense, walking to the kitchen also left him breathless sometimes. With another smirk, Peter left.

               _Damn._ Stiles collapsed onto his bed. _He’s a good kisser._

**~.x.~**

By this point, Stiles was used to people being wary around him. So having Allison—or the monster wearing her face—laugh outright at his threats was refreshing. He said as much with a grin and earned another laugh. Peter had finally tracked down Allison, and the pack sent Stiles to confront her outside the high school.

               “I can tell she’s fighting you,” Stiles said. “And I’m not sure she’s losing. Do you even need me to stop you?” Not that his job was to stop her at all. Tonight, Stiles was bait.

               “Allison is strong-willed, but so am I.” The nogistune grinned wickedly. “The others seem afraid of you, but not Allison. She knows all your weaknesses. _I_ know all your weaknesses.”

               “Not all of them.” Stiles shrugged. It didn’t know he was bad at breaking psychic barriers, for instance.

               “So you have even more wrong with you than I know about, and you’re _proud_ of that?”

               “No.” Stiles grinned. “I’m just proud you’re still talking to me.”

               Scott reached Allison and injected her with the fox poison Deaton had cooked up. It was a temporary fix—they all knew that—but it would give them Allison back for a little while. Maybe she could even help them save her. Allison fell, immediately knocked out by the poison, but Scott caught her and carried her out so they could take her to Haha, No’s old cell. That had been her father’s idea, keeping her where they could guard her easily. He waited for them there. Stiles didn’t want to know how long it had taken to convince Chris Argent to stay behind while they drugged and captured his only daughter.

               Scott laid Allison on the mattress and stepped backwards out of the cell before locking it. Deaton had readied most of a mountain ash circle, and now he made a small cut on Scott’s hand before filling both their palms with ash. He held on to Scott’s hand as he closed the circle.

               “That’s really cool,” Stiles said, “but why do you need it? I thought you could walk through ash circles on account of your being a true alpha.” Also, Stiles wasn’t sure mountain ash could hold a nogitsune, but tensions seemed a little high for _that_ point.

               “Yeah, but it breaks the circle.”

               “Oh. You left out that part before.”

               “Sorry.”

               They settled in to wait for Allison to wake. More of the pack arrived over time. Isaac sat next to Chris Argent. Stiles definitely hadn’t been paying attention because he thought those two hated each other. Derek stayed apart from the others, leaning against the outside wall. Lydia knelt beside the mattress, just outside the circle of ash. Kira and Scott stood near each other, but both seemed intent on Allison. Watching everyone settle in, Stiles got the feeling they did this sort of thing a lot, waited around to learn someone’s fate. Melissa even dropped by to make sure everyone ate. She set some aside for Allison before making apologies and returning to work.

               Stiles’ mind wandered. He wondered how he was disloyal to Peter, or if loyalty to anyone else was enough. He wondered what he could use a heart for. Not a literal heart, a talisman heart. He had the other three suits, might as well make it a full set. He wondered if Derek’s powers were coming back yet, now that they’d been away from Watchtower for a couple weeks.

               He wondered why, exactly, nothing could go according to plan when a crash came through one of the windows and a gas canister landed a few feet from him. With a sigh, Stiles pushed the gas to the edges of the warehouse. When their attackers charged in, they found the pack ready, in clean air, not the least disoriented or disabled.

               “Really, Kate?” Stiles asked. She stood at the head of the group, her berserkers spread among what looked to be former Watchtower soldiers. “You wanted to take us on with _those?”_

               She looked around, wonder lighting up her face. “How are you doing this? Really, how can—” Her eyes landed on Allison. “What did you do to her?”

               “We’re trying to save her,” Scott said.

               “By locking her in a cage?”

               “Did you want to trade places with her?” Derek offered. “Because I’m okay with that.”

               Kate threw a knife, but it fell to the ground before reaching Derek. He hadn’t even flinched. He still trusted Stiles to protect him. That brought a smile to Stiles’ face.

               “Get out of here, Kate,” Chris said, stepping in front of the pack to face her. “I’m already dealing with a monster inside my daughter. Don’t make me kill my sister on top of that.”

               “Fine.” Kate spread her hands. “I’ll go, but...” She let the word hover, watching them, weighing their anticipation. “I’m not the only one who came to Beacon Hills.”

               She turned to stalk out, but paused at the door and looked back. “If Allison dies, so do all of you.” The jaguar patterning spread over her face as her eyes lit green.

               She left the door open, so Stiles pushed the dissipating smoke outside.

               “That was... anticlimactic,” Cat said. “Good.”

               Stiles glanced at Derek and caught him already looking his way. Derek nodded like Stiles had done well. He motioned for Stiles to come over and led him to a far corner, away from the others, and presumably out of hearing ranged.

               “I never thanked you,” Derek said.

               “For what?” Not the dagger just now. The wording for that would be completely different.

               “For not having sex with me, for sleeping on the floor, for reminding me that I can make my own decisions. Thank you.”

               “We made it all the way through this time,” Stiles said. He thought that was a good thing. As much as he wanted Derek for his own, he thought it was good that they hadn’t gotten together in a Watchtower facility again.

               “We did. You reminded me of something my mother used to say. We’re predators. We don’t have to be killers.” He paused, took Stiles’ hand in his own. “That can mean you too. In the arena, they forced our hands, but out here we’re free. We can make our own choices. We don’t have to be killers. You don’t have to be a killer.”

               “And if I want to be?”

               “Just make sure it’s _your_ choice.”

               Stiles nodded and glanced back to the pack, unable to meet Derek’s gaze. “Allison’s waking up,” he said, standing and pulling Derek up with him.

               The others crowded around the cage, speaking to Allison even before Stiles and Derek reached them. She had stepped away from the bars, not closer.

               “You have to kill me,” she said. “It said it will kill all of you, and I don’t think I can stop it.”

               “Do you know who I am?” Kira asked.

               “You’re Noshiko’s daughter.” Kira had explained her mother’s history with the nogitsune to the group, but Allison must have learned it from the spirit itself.

               Kira nodded and picked up a bag she’d been carrying around so she could draw a katana from it because apparently that’s what young people used duffel bags for these days. “My mom and I tracked this down, and I reforged it. If Scott can’t save you, I _will_ stop you. But we’re going to try to save you first.”

               “Promise me,” Allison said. “Promise you won’t let me kill any of them.”

               Kira nodded. “I promise.”

               “And _I_ promise it won’t come to that,” Scott said. “We’ll figure this out.”

               Chris stepped forward and set a hand on Scott’s shoulder to show he supported him, maybe to show he’d forgiven him for putting Allison in danger when they were in high school. “You’ll be okay, Allison. We’ll make this right.”

               “Fine, then how are you going to save me?”

               “We... don’t know yet,” Scott admitted with a wince. “We have a tiny scroll that says we need to change the body of the nogitsune’s host.”

               “Change as in switch or alter? Because I’m not just letting someone else take my place to die.”

               “We think giving you the bite might do it, but it might also kill you.”

               “So bite me.”

               Scott shook his head. “We have to be sure.”

               “Scott, we don’t know how long before the nogitsune takes over again. I can feel it trying to claw past my mind and regain control. If you have a way to stop it, I need you to do it.”

               “Maybe there’s a way to help you keep control,” Stiles said. “Buy some time, if nothing else.” He saw he had everyone’s attention and continued. “Kate said there were others in Beacon Hills, and I’ll bet Cole is one of them. Her experiments were more mind-based than Haha, No’s. We just have to find her and make her help us, and maybe her dumb headphones can give you an edge over the nogitsune.”

               “You would trust her to mess with my daughter’s mind?” Chris demanded.

               “No, I would trust her to bide her time while under threat and cooperate until she was certain of escape or victory. So. She’ll help Allison because we won’t give her a chance to do otherwise. If I have to, I’ll promise to let her examine me or something equally creepy since apparently most of her psychic serum patients explode themselves.”

               Chris gritted his teeth but nodded. The others agreed and started making use of the time Stiles had promised to buy them by planning how to make sure Allison survived this, no matter what.

**~.x.~**

Peter grabbed Stiles on his way in from taking out the trash a few nights later and shoved him against the outside wall of the house. He pressed close to Stiles, not quite touching.

               “Cole won’t work with you. She’s got some hellish noisemakers protecting her little base of operations, so you _owe_ me for going there.” His breath brushed Stiles’ ear.

               “You’re teasing me, aren’t you? Not Cole, the... rest. You’re taunting and luring and...” Stiles breath caught as Peter leaned in to slide his leg between Stiles’ thighs.

               “Yes,” Peter whispered. “I am teasing you.” He stepped back, tilting his head. “It’s fun.”

               “You’re a terrible friend.”

               “I’m a great friend. Did I mention the nightmare sirens outside Cole’s hideout? Or that she almost captured me? Or that I think I know another way to help Allison without Cole’s magic noises?”

               “You what?”

               “Getting someone else to do it would be easier, but a werewolf’s claws should be enough to send someone into Allison’s mind to help, assuming the werewolf has the proper training, which I do.”

               “You can do that?”

               “I can _try._ It’s hardly a sure thing.”

               “Hell, then let’s try.”

               “No, you won’t be there.”

               Stiles paused, reaching for his phone to tell Scott. “Why not?”

               “You’re dangerous, unpredictable, and possessed of a power none of us understand. I don’t know how you could affect this, and it’s delicate enough work as it is. So tell Scott to pick two people, neither of them you, to go inside Allison’s head while someone else guards you to make sure you stay away.”

               “You’re a mean friend.”

               “I’m a great friend. Call Scott. And tell him to call me when he’s ready.” He kissed Stiles goodbye on his forehead and disappeared into the night.

               “So glad most of my hot friends don’t flirt with me,” Stiles muttered. “It’s surprisingly terrible.”

               He called Scott but didn’t mention the teasing or the kiss.

**~.x.~**

Allison was re-possessed and had escaped before Peter made it to her cell with Scott and Lydia to hop inside her head, which meant most of the pack was out looking for her again, which meant Stiles was sitting at home doing absolutely nothing again. He’d crumpled up a ball of paper and was not quite tossing it up and down. He was levitating it between the ceiling and the space just above his face where he lay on his bed. Up and down, up and down. It was good practice, probably. It was also harder than he thought it should be. Was he getting weaker, or did this power work better under stress?

               A knock came at the door, his bedroom door, not the front door. They’d have to be pack to make it past his dad, hopefully. “Come in,” he called, snatching his crumpled paper ball from the air.

               Danny opened the door and walked in exactly like Stiles was some kid he knew from school, and not like Stiles might accidentally crush his brain inside his skull in a fit of rage. Stiles liked Danny.

               “So, I finally got through the encryption. Did you know that about half the time the person typing the files was supposed to type your legal first name, they just used the word ‘Gibberish’ and put it in brackets? The other half they just used Stiles. Your first name only appears once, and I can’t even tell if they spelled it right because your name really is gibberish.”

               “You got _my_ file?”

               “Among others. Want it?”

               “Hell yes.”

               Danny had brought over all the files, not just Stiles’, and they spent the next several hours poring through them. At some point, Derek joined them, though he had to stare over their shoulders since he didn’t have a laptop or tablet to pull them up on.

               “Open that one.” Derek reached over Stiles’ shoulder to point at a folder called ‘Seasonal Personnel.’

               “Seriously? Why?”

               “Just do it.”

               “Whatever.” Stiles opened the file. It had personnel files. So exciting.

               “Watchtower doesn’t hire temporary help,” Derek said.

               “Okay.” Stiles went to close the file, but Derek grabbed his arm.

               “So why do they have files on seasonal employees?”

“You got me, big guy. I don’t know. Maybe ‘seasonal’ means something different to them than it does to us.”

               “Or maybe it’s nondescript enough to be ignored but not something they’d actually need.”

               “They’re hiding something in it. And I’m an idiot.”

               Derek smirked. “Both so true.”

               “Danny, look at the seasonal personnel for me please. Closely.”

               Danny found the folder on his tablet and started scanning the code. “I can’t believe we fell for the old ignore this mislabeled folder trick,” he muttered to himself as he read.

               “Is that an actual thing?” Stiles asked.

               “Sure, I used to hide my porn in a folder called ‘music notes.’ I also kept actual sheet music and notes taken in music classes in the folder to throw my parents off.”

               “Of course you did.”

               “What did you call your porn folder then?”

               “‘Dad you’re not drunk enough for this.’”

               Derek snorted.

               “He opened it once. All he said was, ‘I found the folder, and you were right. We’re out of Jack now.’”

               Derek turned his head down and to the side to hide his laughter.

               Stiles asked Derek, “Not that I don’t want the help, especially since you’re the one who found this, but why aren’t you helping track Allison? Are your powers still not...?”

               “Right now I’m as human as you.” Derek frowned. “I walked through the mountain ash protecting the house.”

               “Does Deaton have any idea what happened?”

               Derek shook his head. “No one does, and I feel weaker every day.”

               “Well, if it comes down to it, I’ve got a great tattoo artist and tips for tricking your enemies into letting you win.”

               Danny interrupted before Derek was finished with his bemused head shaking, “If you two are done flirting even though you insist you’re just frenemies now, I think I found something.” He pulled up a big jumble of symbols on his tablet and turned it around like it should mean something to the others.

               Stiles raised a hand. “I don’t get it.”

               “It’s a map.”

               “It doesn’t look like a map.”

               Derek tilted his head. “It kind of looks like a map.”

               “You only said that because I said it didn’t.”

               “True.”

               Danny shook his head. “It’s not to scale and the space between areas is in symbols, not depicted visually. So maybe it’s a little bit of a list, but each point can only be understood in relation to the other points, not objectively, so I called it a map.”

               “That doesn’t make any sense. What’s it a map of?” Stiles would take Danny’s word for it, but he still thought it looked like a pile of gibberish.

               “Watchtower facilities. The facility files don’t have locations included because they’re hidden here. It’ll take me more time to crack the cipher they’re using to code distances, but not nearly as long as breaking the initial encryption.

               Derek asked, “Shouldn’t the last line of defense be stronger?”

               “Yes, it is. I only took so long on the encryption because someone was sabotaging my progress. Now I know it was nogitsune-as-Allison, but at the time, I’d asked Scott to keep it quiet because I thought it might be Stiles or one of his Watchtower friends or enemies.”

               “Why the fuck would I—”

               Derek cut him off, “Why would the nogitsune care about us accessing Watchtower’s files?”

               “I don’t know. Maybe it was to keep the pack separated. We were going to extract you two when I finished whether we’d gotten Derek’s signal or not.”

               “Speaking of, no one has explained to me how there was a plan,” Stiles said. “Why wasn’t I in on the plan?”

               “Because you’d have spoiled it,” Derek said.

               “Because we knew they’d focus interrogation on you,” Danny corrected. “You draw attention to yourself, in turn drawing it away from Derek. No one expects your plans to be separate from his, so they figure if you don’t have a plan, neither does he.”

               “You’re the Joker. I’m just Derek.”

               Stiles bit his lip. “I can’t think of any counter argument to that.”

               Derek smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “I know.”

**~.x.~**

Danny was working on deciphering the distance code for Watchtower’s shitty map while most of the pack scoured the city and woods for any sign of Allison. Or, well, for any sign of Allison that she hadn’t planted to fuck with them. Stiles’ father was at the station dealing with a bomb Allison had left behind as a joke, or something. They kept calling this nogitsune a trickster, but it seemed more like a murderer than anything else. Maybe the joke was on Stiles. Whatever.

               Scott told Stiles to stay home, keep out of danger. Scott told Derek the same. Naturally, they took one look at each other once Scott was gone and headed straight out of the house and into the woods.

               “Spar with me,” Derek said, leaning across Stiles field of vision.

               “Is this an attempt to make me exercise because we are hiking, and that counts.”

               Derek shook his head. “You’re getting soft. I’ve comparatively turned into a marshmallow since I used to have super strength. We need the practice, so spar with me.”

               “Okay, but I’m doing it more for word count than quality of argument.” He shrugged out of his jacket, looking for a good open space to practice.

               Derek smirked, just a little, as he settled into his I’m-a-tough-guy fighting stance, which Stiles was sure worked better for werewolves than humans. Bastard thought he could outfight Stiles even as a ‘marshmallow.’ Maybe he could. They’d know soon enough.

               Derek knew all his tricks, so Stiles figured his best bet would be not to use them, or to let Derek think he wouldn’t use them. That, unfortunately, meant going in for a fair fight. He’d be relying a lot on Derek’s power-loss.

               They circled, studying each other and the terrain. A tree branch could win this fight as easily as actual skill. Eventually, Stiles realized Derek was waiting for Stiles to attack first. Of course he was. He’d taught Stiles the dangers of dealing the first blow alongside the advantages, and they both knew Derek was more patient than Stiles would ever be. Stiles had to go first. So he did.

               Derek blocked, naturally, but Stiles dodged his counter. If felt good sparring with Derek again. It had been so long. Allison had taken over Stiles’ training, but it wasn’t the same. A smile played on Derek’s lips, and Stiles knew he had missed this too. No tricks then, just practice and exercise. Just Stiles and Derek. No Joker.

               They fought until Stiles collapsed, out of breath and strength both. He didn’t know how long it had been. _Not long enough,_ he thought when he looked up to see Derek smiling—smiling!—down at him.

               “I win,” Derek declared, setting a foot against Stiles’ stomach to hold him down.

               Stiles squirmed but couldn’t get free. “No fair. I’m in recovery.”

               Derek sat heavily beside Stiles with a soft laugh. “Don’t care. I still win.”

               “I guess if you were a bad guy, you would have torn my throat out by now whether it was fair or not.”

               “With my teeth.”

               They laughed together.

               Derek eyed Stiles, eyebrow raised. “Can you walk, or do I need to carry you back to the house?”

               With an exaggerated harrumph, Stiles pushed himself to his feet. “As if you could carry me after that, Mr. Human-strength.”

               “You _are_ getting fat with all that lying about the house.”

               “Am not.”

               “Oh, yeah, you have to eat to gain weight.”

               “I eat.”

               “Sure you do.” Derek knocked Stiles upside the head, lightly, but still hard enough to nearly knock him off his feet.

               “Was that supposed to be affectionate? Do we attack each other in the name of friendship now?”

               “Why? Do you want to?”

               “No.” Stiles rubbed at his head even though it hadn’t hurt.

               “Shame. That’s the only thing you’re good at.”

               Stiles scowled. “We were having a good time. Why’d you have to do that thing you do where you hate me.”

               Derek shrugged. “I forgot to hate you for a moment. Making up for lost time.”

               “I said I was sorry. I still am. I’m sorry. I thought we were sort of getting along again.”

               “I’m sorry too, but I don’t want to get along with you.” Derek stopped and turned to face Stiles, setting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “We’re bad for each other. It’s better if we’re not friends.”

               “No, we _can be_ bad for each other, but that doesn’t mean we have to be.” He chewed his lip. He’d promised. “But if you want me to stay away from you, I will. I didn’t mean it for only when they had us.”

               Derek sighed and rubbed his eyes hard enough to leave them red. He stood a long time before answering, just staring at the ground between their feet. “No. We’re packmates. We’re friends. It’s just easier to push you away than to admit that I don’t hate you anymore.”

               “You don’t?”

               “No.”

               “You should.”

               Derek shrugged. “Maybe it’s for me more than for you, but I forgive you, Stiles.”

               Stiles couldn’t meet his eyes. He wasn’t sure what to do or say. He’d forgotten how to deal with people when they were so... sincere. “Thank you,” he said eventually, with his mouth half buried in his coat collar.

               When they reached the house, Derek turned to walk around and leave rather than join Stiles inside. “We should do this again sometime,” he said. Something in his voice said he heard the cliché in it.

               “Yeah. We don’t want to be marshmallows next time it comes to fighting.”

               Derek grinned, wide and sincere. “It’s a date.” He turned the corner of the house before Stiles could ask what that was supposed to mean. Probably that he had another hot friend teasing him. Goddamned Hales.

**~.x.~**

Scott rushed into Stiles’ room grinning. “We did it,” he said, practically bouncing.

               “Congratulations. I’m very happy for you. I can’t even put how happy for you I am into words because I have no idea what you’re talking about. What did you do?” Maybe Stiles could have turned the attitude down a little for Scott, or maybe he didn’t need to since Scott’s grin never wavered.

               Scott’s explanation came out all in a rush. “Peter sent Lydia and I into Allison’s mind, and she drove out the nogitsune. She threw up this huge pile of bandages and then crawled out like a zombie. So it had its own body, but it was also Allison’s body, so we were worried about how they might be linked, but we came up with a plan anyway. I gave the nogitsune the bite, but not Allison. The nogitsune couldn’t be a fox and a wolf both, so it was weak enough for Kira to kill the body with her sword. This fly flew out of void-Allison’s mouth, and we caught it. It’s trapped now, and Deaton locked it away somewhere safe.” In that moment, he sounded more like excited high school Scott than true alpha adult Scott.

               “You could have led with, ‘We saved Allison.’”

               “Sorry.” He grinned sheepishly.

               “Good job.” Stiles wasn’t sure what else to say. Last he knew, Allison was still lost, and suddenly she’s completely cured and the evil spirit done away with. They hadn’t even needed Stiles. He guessed they’d never really needed him since they beat every other monster without him too.

               “Anyway, she already talked to everyone else, but she wanted to see you. I thought you’d like a warning first.”

               “You mean so I didn’t attack her?”

               “Something like that.”

               “Cool. Hey, does this mean Kira’s leaving?”

               “Yeah. Her family is in New York.”

               “You should ask her out before she goes.”

               “You think so?”

               “Dude, trust me.”

               “You’re terrible with people.”

               “So. You want to ask her out, don’t you?”

               Scott nodded.

               “So just do it.”

               “Fine. I’ll do it. But only if you promise me something.”

               Stiles groaned.

               “It’s not that bad,” Scott said. “You just have to tell someone—your choice so long as it’s not Peter—how you feel once a day.”

               “Are you fucking kidding me?”

               “Come on, Stiles. My love life depends on you.”

               “Fine. I feel genuinely annoyed.”

               “It’s a start. I’ll send in Allison.”

               Allison peeked through the doorway before stepping in, like she needed to make sure she was welcome. She must have been waiting right outside. Stiles wondered if she’d heard him encourage Scott to date Kira, and if she cared. More than that, Stiles wondered what it had been like being possessed. Did she even remember it? Did she want to?

               “Hey, Stiles.”

               “Hey, Allison.”

               “Is it okay if we skip the ‘I was possessed by an evil fox spirit’ conversation, at least for a few minutes. I’ve had that one four times in the past two hours alone.”

               Stiles shrugged. “Sure, but it means you’re not allowed to mention supernatural bonds werewolves did or could have with me.”

               “Deal.” She hesitated, even biting lightly at her lower lip. Her eyes darted through the room before finally landing on Stiles and settling. She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “My aunt is alive.”

               Stiles nodded even though it hadn’t been a question.

               “She’s a werewolf or something?”

               “Werejaguar, I think.”

               “Peter slashed her throat with his claws while he was an alpha. They must have gone deep enough to start the change before she died.”

               “You’re taking this well.”

               Allison gave a start. “No, I’m... compartmentalizing. I think my dad wants to hunt her down, and I’m not sure if he means to lock her away or kill her.”

               “Ah.”

               “He said she had berserkers. Any idea how she got them or how she controls them?”

               “Not unless they just have a thing for blondes.”

               By the look Allison gave him, this was not the right time for jokes.

               “Sorry,” he said.

               “Do you think... could you ask Peter about them? And about what would make her a jaguar instead of a wolf?”

               “Yeah, but Derek says sometimes the shape you take reflects the person that you are. Maybe she’s very literally catty.”

               “Maybe the berserkers are always controlled by jaguars. Maybe she’s just a wolf with really weird patterning. Maybe she’s not my aunt at all but a strange illusion cooked up by a dark wizard.” She gave him a flat stare in case her last example wasn’t ridiculous enough to make the point that his idle speculation was useless. “Just ask Peter.”

               “I will.” He probably would. For Allison, he _actually_ probably would.

               “Okay, you’ve been very good, but I can still see it in your eyes. Yes, I remember everything. What else did you want to know?”

               Stiles winced. He hadn’t thought he’d been that obvious. “Was it bitter that I tricked it, or did it appreciate the irony of the trickster being tricked?”

               “What?”

               “Was it really that much of a trickster? I mean, it mostly seemed to be going out of its way to kill people, whereas I think a true trickster would just let the dying happen whenever it was convenient.”

               “Are you serious?”

               “Kira said it fed on chaos, but it seemed like it was feeding on pain more.”

               “It was both things, actually.”

               “Why didn’t it want Danny to crack Watchtower’s security?”

               Allison shook her head. “That happened before I knew I was possessed. I was blacked out, so I guess I should have said I remember everything after we realized what was happening. I do know it avoided you and Derek, but I don’t know why.”

               “Professional trickster courtesy?”

               “No.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Your tattoos are to compensate for power you lost after breaking your bonds, right? Is it really possible for you to regain all that? You were stronger, faster, more perceptive, you healed faster, and communicated telepathically with your boyfriend. I trained with you before and after, and there was a definite difference.” So they’d switched to quid pro quo mode. Stiles supposed that was fair.

               “Doesn’t matter how fast I go if the enemy can’t move at all. I heard you stabbed Scott. Was that cathartic?”

               “Stiles, you barely heard anything. I bet you don’t even know about the oni Noshiko sent with Kira. You’re going with a card suit theme. Did you ask the people experimenting on you to keep it going, or did they just know?”

               “My Joker persona is extremely public. That’s the point. What’s an oni?”

               “Sort of a guardian created by breaking a kitsune’s tail, which is why Noshiko only sent the one. The nogitsune used me to figure out it could kill them with silver. Are you saving heart for communication?”

               He hadn’t thought of that. It was good. He’d have to remember to thank Allison if he figured out a good way to use that. “I’m making it up as I go along. Did you have to watch everything as it happened, or did you just remember when you woke up?”

               “I watched, but I’m not sure it would feel different now if I hadn’t.”

               Stiles cut in before she could ask her own question. “And how do you feel?”

               “Like I stabbed Scott. Like I killed those people.”

               “You didn’t have a choice.”

               “Is that what you tell yourself? When you think about the people you killed in the arena, do you tell yourself you didn’t have a choice?”

               “I do, and I still had more choice than you. I, at least, could have chosen to die.”

               “And how do you handle it, remembering them, remembering killing them?” She shed no tears, but her eyes were wet.

               “I don’t really handle it. I... retreat. I lash out. I pretend to be someone I’m not.”

               He paused to stare at his hands.

               _Someone I’m not?_

He was a monster. The Joker. He’d killed more people than he could remember, and mutilated a few more for good measure. He’d made himself stronger so he could kill _more_ people. He’d gone to them, hunted them down. He gave orders to some of them now. He’d become the monster. He’d become Watchtower.

               _Someone I’m not._

               Where did he get off saying that, passing his new self off as a lie? He didn’t deserve to be a person anymore, not after what he’d done. All the people he’d hurt. Most of them were dead, but somehow Derek still mattered the most. That was the threshold, the point of no return: the moment he’d broken Derek.

               But Derek wasn’t broken. He was hurt. Not broken. Damaged, but healing. Stiles didn’t get to take credit for breaking someone who he wasn’t strong  enough to break.

               _Someone I’m not._

               Allison crossed the space between them to set a hand against his cheek. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay to be more than what they made you.”

               He flinched back, but she held his eyes with hers.

               “And I think,” she added, “maybe it’s time you stopped getting to hide behind it. I wasn’t in control when I did those things, but I still have to live with them. You have to live with what you’ve done too. Not hide behind your mask. Live.”

               Stiles took Allison’s hand from his cheek and held it in his own. “It’s not fair how you see through me. I get why Peter and Derek can because they’re cheaters. But you just... you just do it, like I can’t hide anything at all, like it’s easy for you.”

               “Why do you think I’ve tried so hard to stay close to you when you even pushed Scott away? He could see the best in you, but you haven’t been ready to admit it. You needed someone who could see the best and worst together.”

               Stiles nodded. “Someone who’d seen the worst in themselves and overcome it. But you know Joker’s not just a mask.”

               “Yes, but I also know it’s not all of who you are.”

               “I thought this talk was supposed to be for you.”

               “I said from the start that wasn’t what I wanted, but I admit your angle on the possession thing was... unique.”

               Stiles chuckled, but it was rough. “Shit, I’m crying, aren’t I?”

               Allison nodded. “We’ll work on self-awareness later.” She pulled him into a hug and stroked his hair like he was a child, not a monster at all, just someone who’d been hurt too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i worried so much about the nogitsune, guys. so. much. i’m still worried right now even though chiomi didn’t seem to mind. i just know a lot of people love nogitsune!stiles because dylan did such an amazing job, and i did away with that entirely. to be fair, dylan’s acting for the nogitsune isn’t far off from what he’d need for joker in some scenes. and just imagine crystal being evil! who wants more dark allison? the answer was apparently me.  
>  See, TheConstantDrumming, I said I may have thought a lot about the nogistune... >_> (Stiles wasn’t in Beacon Hills when it was freed, so it found a more convenient host in this world.)


	4. A Little Better

Sparring with Derek again had very little in common with dating. Stiles loved it anyway. He really had been falling out of practice. Plus it was a good way to build his endurance back up. Double plus Derek was human now. Sometimes Stiles won. Triple plus, Derek wasn’t Allison, which also meant sometimes Stiles won.

               Derek laughed no matter who won. He said he liked the exercise. Sometimes he lingered closer to Stiles than he needed to, and Stiles thought Derek liked more than just the exercise. That was okay. Stiles liked it too. But Derek always left right after, or sent Stiles away if they’d been sparring at the loft. Most likely, he just wanted to shower and change out of his sweaty clothes, but there was a part of Stiles that wished Derek would shower with him.

               Stiles dried his hair with a towel before wrapping it around his waist. He left his dirty clothes on the floor of the bathroom—he could pick them up when he did laundry later—and tried to decide between actually getting dressed or just throwing on sweats or pajamas on the way to his room. He had decided on daytime clothes—because his father would be home for dinner and always looked a little disappointed when Stiles dressed like a social recluse—when he turned into his room to find A) his clothes had been picked out for him and left on the bed and B) Peter was sitting in his computer chair reading a book.

               “Took you long enough,” Peter said. “Get dressed.”

               “What are you doing?”

               “I assumed it was time for a talk, but I won’t have it with a boy in a towel. Don’t worry, I won’t peek.”

               Stiles rolled his eyes but dressed in the clothes Peter had chosen. They were as good as any.

               “Do you want to go first or shall I?” Peter asked.

               “I don’t know what we’re talking about.”

               “Our friendship.”

               “Okay?”

               Peter shook his head. “I know there have been overtures on both sides, but we’re staying just friends.”

               “Oh. Yes, I shouldn’t have tried to, you know, anyway. We’re not, uh, we’re what you said.” Wow, Stiles was _bad_ at this. Derek would be so pleased to find something else Stiles couldn’t do. “I’m still in love with Derek, and it wasn’t right of me to even try to use you to forget him. I know we don’t have a sacred sparkling friendship trust, but it’s still a betrayal of whatever it is we do have.”

               “And I shouldn’t have teased you. I knew from the start how you felt, and how Derek felt, and I let myself behave vindictively because I knew you would only be using me, not because I was entertaining your proposal.”

               How Derek felt? Stiles wanted to ask, but he’d already hurt—maybe not hurt; bothered?—Peter by focusing too much on Derek. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

               “I’m sorry too. And thank you. I assume that’s enough?”

               “Definitely.”

               “And I see the look in your eyes. Yes, I have known Derek his entire life, minus a few middling years during which I didn’t know myself either, and I can tell when he’s in love with someone. I doubt anyone else will ever have a chance with either of you.” Peter shook his head like they were a lost cause. “I expect an invitation to the wedding and for Derek to stop accusing us of indecent behavior and thoughts.”

               Stiles laughed. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

               “Maybe you two are just falling behind.” Peter stood, set the book on Stiles’ desk, and left with barely a wave.

**~.x.~**

Scott called a meeting. He didn’t call it that, of course. He said, “Danny’s got it. We should get together and figure out what we want to do.” They met at the loft because it had space enough for the whole pack, even including those who had followed Stiles from Watchtower. They’d also have eaten the fridge and pantry clean if Scott had invited them anywhere people actually kept food. Lydia raised an eyebrow at Derek when he threw a bottle of orange juice, two packs of crackers, and a slice and a half of leftover pizza at the hungry group.

               “I usually eat out,” Derek said with a shrug. “Plumbing works, so drink water.” He grabbed the half slice of pizza and ate it himself while everyone decided they weren’t that hungry after all and could eat later.

               Stiles snickered and stole the orange juice for himself.

               “We already sort of have a plan,” Scott said once everyone had settled down. “We hand the files over and let the authorities handle it. But which files and which authorities?”

               “What do you mean ‘which authorities’?” the Sheriff asked.

               “Well, there’s you, but you’re local police. There’s my dad, but he’s...” Scott’s dad worked for the FBI, but he hadn’t spoken to Scott in years. And he was a dumbass who looked like a blobfish. “Or we could send an anonymous tip to law enforcement or the media, which definitely saves us from awkward questions. Or we give it to the hunters.”

               “You put hunters last on purpose.”

               Scott nodded.

               “On purpose for what?”

               “They’re the only ones equipped to deal with the threat Watchtower actually poses.”

               Stiles’ dad nodded. “But then who will save Watchtower’s victims? Derek tells me some of them can’t go home because of what Watchtower did.”

               From the corner where she kept her eye on the pack, Gregson nodded firmly only to stop suddenly when she noticed Setter doing the same across the room. The two eyed each other for a moment before giving the other a small nod as everyone else seemingly ignored them. Except Spade, who pretended to ignore them but didn’t have much else to grin like an idiot about.

               “So we split the files,” Lydia said. “Send to everyone, just limit each packet to what the recipient can handle.”

               Stiles rolled his head back to rest against the couch. This was going to be _so boring._ Derek nudged his side with his elbow until Stiles pretended to pay attention as the others settled down to sort what information went to who. Stiles didn’t care so long as someone took out Watchtower. Part of him still wished he could charge in and do it himself, but visceral satisfaction did not a toppled cult make. Besides, he kind of thought, though not out loud where anyone could hear, he kind of thought it would be nice for someone else to handle it. Stiles didn’t want to be a killer anymore. Someone else could kill the bad guys, and Stiles’ part could be done.

               So, naturally, the bad guys struck with an ear-splitting shriek that tore through the loft, leaving everyone on their knees. They broke in, wearing street clothes instead of uniforms, but Cole and Wight strutted through the door unaffected by the noise. Earplugs, probably. They stood back as the others stormed forward, guns pointed at the pack. The sound cut off once the pack was surrounded.

               “I heard about your plan,” Cole said. “It conflicts with ours.” Not ‘mine’ but ‘ours.’ At least Cole was a team player.

               Stiles groaned. He hadn’t stood yet and now dropped his head back against the couch. Derek chewed his pizza loudly. The others seemed more worried.

               Allison said, “We heard about your rising from the ashes plan, but can’t you just make your own cult instead of taking over this one?”

               “Watchtower has infrastructure and resources we could use.”

               “A good ass-kicking is what you could use most,” Setter mumbled loud enough for everyone to hear.

               Lydia said, “Not sure we should antagonize the people pointing guns at us.”

               “Smart girl,” Wight decided.

               Stiles groaned again, louder this time to interrupt what passed for banter here, apparently. “Are we seriously doing this?”

               “Yes. I also need to figure out why you’re not dead.” Cole sounded too cheerful about that for comfort.

               Derek said, “He’d made talismans before, and you chose the right mark. Mystery solved. You can leave.” Stiles couldn’t say for sure, but he got the feeling Derek was right. He also got the feeling Derek had thought about it a lot more than Stiles.

               “No.” Typical evil cultist refusing common sense and peaceably parting ways.

               Derek threw up his hands like she was being unreasonable then shoved the last of his pizza into his mouth.

               “You realize you don’t outnumber us, right?” Scott pointed out.

               “Don’t need to.” Cole raised her hand, and the shrieking returned. When the pack had fallen collectively to its knees, pressing hands to ears to block out the sound, Cole dropped her hand. The noise stopped.

               Into the new silence, Stiles said, “I’m supposed to tell someone once a day how I feel. I feel like I’ve made a mistake every single day of my life when I didn’t peel your face off with a knife.”

               Stiles thought he could stun Cole and make it across the room to take her out before she signaled for noise but wasn’t sure what he’d do about Wight and the rest of her followers. Equalizers, that was the name they’d chosen. _Very punny, Cole._

               He studied the room and the people there as the others continued posturing. No one was getting out of this without a fight. He just had to make sure he won. The Equalizers spread fairly evenly through the room. Only a handful paired noticeably. With any luck, that meant a mostly human force. Stiles studied the pairs, found one certain werewolf when she flashed her eyes, and another who seemed to be scenting the room more than looking at it. The last pair gave nothing away. Cole wouldn’t have given the humans her superpower serum since she didn’t know how Stiles had survived. The noisemaker was the only real threat, then.

               Derek caught Stiles eye and nodded toward the pair Stiles hadn’t deciphered before twitching his head to the left. So the left one was the wolf. Stiles grinned. He tapped his ear. Maybe Derek could tell where the sound came from, but Derek shook his head. No help there. Stupid power loss giving Derek human senses. Stiles turned to Peter, but he shook his head too as soon as they’d made eye contact.

               Wight said, “Your wolves are right, Joker. Not a good time to fight back.”

               Stiles grinned. That wasn’t what they’d said at all. Then he laughed. He knew what to do. “You think your noisemaker can stop us? Honey, you’ve never heard a banshee scream.”

               Lydia took her cue perfectly. Insufferable as someone screaming at the top of their lungs could be, it still just sounded like a scream even as it drowned out the renewed shrieking of Cole’s noisemaker. The pack lunged into action almost as one. Stiles chose the nearest bonded pair to stun and charged them to find Derek by his side when he reached them. They didn’t kill them. They probably concussed them, but they’d live. The shrieking stopped, both versions. Derek smiled, pulling Stiles to another opponent, another small fight within the larger battle. They didn’t kill anyone. There were gunshots, but no one fell. Stiles saw a bullet headed straight for Peter’s temple, but it veered off course and embedded itself in the wall instead. Maybe Stiles power _did_ rely on danger.

               In the end, the followers—“Equalizers”—were down. Wight was down. All sleeping, not dead. The pack suffered only grazes, and Allison had even found the noisemaker and stopped it. Scott shoved Cole against the wall and told her she was going to leave and never return or Scott was going to—at this point he paused, turned to Stiles, and turned back to Cole with the darkest smirk Stiles had ever seen on Scott’s face—hand her over to Stiles and Derek.

               “Fine,” she agreed. “We could have worked together, made Watchtower into something worthwhile instead of the monster it is now.”

               “No, we couldn’t have.” Scott motioned for her to leave and crossed his arms.

               Cole nodded, raised her hands and turned. She snapped her fingers.

               Wight’s arm swung around. She wasn’t unconscious, just biding her time. There was a gun in her hands. Stiles activated his talisman, the first one, to stun her. Too late. The gun fired. Stiles felt the power pass through him, rushing from one talisman to the other. Too slow. Derek stumbled. His hands rose to his abdomen, pressed against the spreading flow of blood.

               Someone screamed, probably Stiles. He’d let these fuckers live, and for what? So they could shoot Derek? Melissa rushed forward, settled Derek down, inspected the wound. Her face was grim.

               “Derek, I need to get the bullet out, okay. Someone get me—”

               “I got it,” Stiles said. He’d pulled a pullet out of Derek with his fingers before. He did it with his mind this time. Much easier. He absently tossed the bullet from hand to hand, not moving a muscle.

               “Okay, then towels, hot water, any sort of first aid supplies he keeps here.”

               People scurried around. Stiles looked around to find Wight and Cole both tied down. Gregson, Dumbo, and Jax moved through the room disarming the unconscious Equalizers. Cat followed with Setter and Spade to drag them over by the wall and tie them up to. No more chances.

               “Stiles, Stiles, are you listening?”

               “What?”

               “Help me apply pressure here,” Melissa ordered.

               “Okay.” Stiles dropped the bullet and set his hand against the towel pressed to Derek’s stomach. Derek’s skin was pale, his eyes barely open. Melissa washed her hands in the kitchen sink and started going through a first aid kit Isaac had carried over.

               “It’s okay,” Derek said.

               Stiles shook his head.

               “Why isn’t he healing?” Isaac asked. “He should be healing.”

               “He lost his powers. He’s human now.” Scott explained.

               “No, it’s okay,” Derek insisted.

               “You’re dying,” Stiles whispered. He knew the look on Melissa’s face, saw her studying the painkillers more closely than the bandages.

               “No, I’m...” He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. “I’m okay.” Derek reached out to Stiles, not with his arms, but with his mind. It was a bond offer, the touch of a werewolf’s soul reaching out to join to a human’s. He opened his eyes, wide, gasping, struggling against the pain, and they burned red. “I’m a wolf,” he growled, fangs growing in.

               Derek didn’t just shift. He transformed. From man to werewolf to wolf. It didn’t look painful. Movies always made it look painful, crushing a human skeleton into a wolf’s. Movies made it look like a curse. When Derek changed, it was different. Calm. Just a fact of life. His name was Derek, he liked leather jackets, and he turned into a wolf with black fur and glowing eyes.

               “Oh my god.” That was Peter.

               He knelt beside Stiles, looking down at Derek where he tried to tug off human clothes with wolf teeth. He was going to ruin them, so Stiles slapped his snout lightly to stop him and pulled the bloody clothes away for him. Already ruined. Waste of time. Stiles found the bullet on the floor and tossed it into the pile with the clothes. It would all go into the trash, probably.

               “See if he’s still been shot,” Melissa said. “And find out if he needs my help or Deaton’s if he is.”

               Derek growled when Stiles reached for his belly. “Seriously?” Stiles asked. Derek shook his head, not a very wolfish gesture at all, and rolled over just enough for Stiles to feel that the wound had closed entirely. “He’s okay,” Stiles told them.

               Derek nodded and flashed his eyes. Melissa immediately turned her attention to the scrapes and bruises others had earned in the fight.

               “Are you going to change back?” Stiles asked.

               Derek nodded again.

               “When?”

               Derek just turned to look at the pile Stiles had made of his clothes. Stiles laughed. Derek growled again and stood, heading for the stairs, probably so he could shift back and get dressed with some privacy.

               “I was not expecting that,” Cole admitted, reminding everyone she was there, tied up and set against the wall.

               Scott turned toward her, but Stiles’ father set a hand against his shoulder. “I think I can handle this.”

               “But three of them are werewolves, and they know about us.”

               Deaton said, “And I think _I_ can handle that. The asylum here, Eichen House, has a ward specifically for the kind of prisoners most humans can’t handle.”

               “Are you fucking kidding?” Stiles growled. “There’s a monster prison in town, and you never told us?”

               “He makes a habit of that, doesn’t he?” Peter said.

               “Yes,” Deaton agreed. “I can’t tell you everything I know. It’s impractical, and you don’t need or deserve all of it.”

               The sheriff nodded to Deaton like Stiles and Peter hadn’t interrupted. “I’ll handle the humans. You handle the werewolves and leaders. That okay, Scott?”

               Scott nodded.

               Stiles couldn’t help but think they’d break out, somehow, but he supposed that was the price you paid for choosing not to kill people. Maybe someday he’d feel better enough about himself to make up for knowing his enemies were still out there, even behind bars. Probably not. But then Scott turned to Stiles and pulled him aside. Werewolf ears would still hear them, but only if they were rude enough to actively listen in.

               “Thank you,” he said, “for not killing any of them.”

               Stiles nodded. “I talked to Allison.”

               Scott grinned. “She’s been trying to talk to you for over a year. You’re awfully dense.”

               “Says the guy who literally didn’t believe me when I told him he was a werewolf even though _you_ were the one who turned into a monster at night.”

               Scott grinned wider. It shifted into a mischievous smirk as he said, “Speaking of people who are dense,” and nodded to Derek, walking down the stairs in a fresh undershirt and jeans. Scott patted Stiles on the back and turned away to help get rid of Cole, Wight, and the bonded pairs before Stiles’ father called for backup with the rest.

               Derek headed straight for Stiles. “I heard the plan. And I heard Scott. Smartass.”

               “That’s not the same as wrong.”

               “I assume they’ll make us give statements when they arrest those morons. Want to get dinner after? I don’t have any food here.”

               Stiles nodded.

               “I mean a date.”

               Stiles grinned.

**~.x.~**

Danny handled sending the files because he best understood how to cover his tracks. Peter watched over his shoulder like he understood what Danny was doing. Maybe he did. Scott was there in Official Alpha Capacity, but he kept grinning from ear to ear and texting because he and Kira had swapped numbers and were “totally not dating” and “just friends occasionally texting” and “Stiles, shut up and go make out with your boyfriend.” Stiles gave it maybe six months before Kira showed up to make out with _her_ boyfriend. Scott had started looking at colleges in New York.

               “It’s done,” Danny said. “Not that anyone but the creepy undead werewolf is paying attention.”

               “I’m paying attention,” Scott insisted as he slid his phone into his pocket only to pull it right back out again when he received a text.

               “Chris Argent has nearly everything, along with notes on who else got what. He’ll decide what to pass on to other hunters. Agent McCall has a new email with proof of Watchtower’s bribes, tax evasions, kidnappings, frame jobs, and other such mundane evils. I sent different tips to several reporters, and each one only got one piece of proof. Nothing mentions anyone in Beacon Hills now except those who asked me to leave their files in to clear their names.”

               Scott nodded firmly. “Good job.”

               “‘Good job’? That’s all I get for all this?”

               “I also have tamales. My mom likes to celebrate days off by cooking.”

               “Deal.” Melissa McCall’s tamales were the best. Even Derek brightened at mention of them.

               “Ooh, ooh, I’ve been good too,” Stiles said.

               “Fine. You’ll have to hurry before Danny steals them all and runs off into the night.”

               Stiles booked it down to the kitchen and wrestled one of two from Danny’s hand even though there were plenty more on the plate. Danny laughed as he kneed Stiles in the gut and made away with the first two _and_ a third tamale he grabbed for good measure, already peeling the first one open.

               Stiles took one of the others from the plate. Scott had been exaggerating, but racing down to steal Danny’s tamales had been fun. Stiles was trying to have fun more, and only partially because people kept telling him to. He used to like this sort of thing. He _still_ liked this sort of thing. He just hadn’t let himself enjoy life for a while now.

               “You both realize that tamale is going to be squished after you fought over it,” Cat said. She stood in the doorway, eyeing them with her arms crossed. Stiles hadn’t realized she was here today since she hadn’t joined them at the computer. “You also both realize the rest of that plate belongs to me now.”

               Stiles and Danny both leapt for the tamales, but Cat reached them first and danced away with the plate, laughing. She hadn’t had much fun for a long time either. Stiles almost forgave her for the tamale theft, but then she handed two to Derek when he entered the kitchen too.

               “No good tamale thieves,” Stiles muttered.

               Danny nodded even though he had three tamales to Stiles’ one. Cat had six, so at least his odds of getting another were decent.

               “If I knew you all liked my tamales that much, I’d have made more.” Stiles had known Melissa was home, but he hadn’t realized she was watching. Did that mean he was losing his touch or comfortable enough not to be hypervigilant all the time? “Oh, wait. I _did_ know you all liked my tamales so much, which is why I hid the rest so everyone else could have some too.”

               “You made more?” Stiles demanded around a mouthful.

               “Dude, when my mom has time to cook, she makes enough to feed an army. And whatever army it’s fighting. And their families back home. And—”

               “Maybe I made too much,” Melissa admitted in the voice of a woman who knew she had done nothing of the sort and wanted someone to admit it.

               Derek, of all people, obliged. “There is no such thing as too much good food.”

               “Thank you, Derek.”

               “Especially tamales. Yours remind me of my mom’s.”

               Melissa’s smile turned sad, but only for a moment before brightening again. “Thank you, Derek.” She said it more sincerely this time, and Derek nodded. Stiles snatched a second tamale while everyone was distracted and nearly bit into the corn husk in his haste to claim it as his own. Everyone noticed he’d taken it when Derek laughed at him, but he still got a bite out before Cat reached him to snatch it back. Stiles laughed again and almost forgot to feel strange about laughing without trying to confuse or frighten anyone. Almost.

**~.x.~**

 

    Derek pushed Stiles ahead of him into the room. That alone was cause for concern. He was blocking Stiles’ exit. Not that he’d get far if he ran since apparently Derek had rented a room in a community center too far from Stiles house for him to run home. And Derek drove. Once Stiles looked around the room, it was even worse. There were folding chairs, donuts, and coffee. It looked like a fucking support group.

    Peter shrugged apologetically as he drank some of what was no doubt terrible coffee because places like this never had good coffee. Stiles knew that from movies exclusively, but it had a true kind of feel. Stiles knew the others there too. Cat, Gregson, Dumbo, Setter, Spade, Jax, and a few members of Gregson’s squad that Stiles hadn’t even realized got out of the ‘Pit. He’d probably just ignored Gregson when she told him.

    “Seriously?” Stiles muttered as Derek pushed him toward one of the chairs. They all sat in a circle, and the others filled the circle as Stiles sat. “Whose idea was this?”

    “Mine,” Derek said with a toothy grin.

    “I chose the location,” Gregson added. “I admit to wanting something that would make you uncomfortable, sir.”

    Stiles scowled appropriately.

    “Thank you, sir.” She didn’t bother to stifle her grin.

    “We’re leaving,” Setter said. “We wanted to tell you together, to tell each other.”

    “Oh.” Stiles wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think of them leaving.

    Spade elbowed Setter lightly. “We’re also supposed to want to tell you we aren’t cutting ties, just going home once the local authorities know not to arrest us.”

    “Okay.” Stiles didn’t have close ties to most of these people anyway. Maybe he was supposed to text them sometimes.

    “I told you he wouldn’t care,” Dumbo said.

    Cat and Peter laughed while a few of the former soldiers looked uncomfortable.

    “Sure I care. I just don’t know why the folding chairs and donuts and what Derek had to do with this.”

    Derek’s grin became more menacing by the second. Stiles wondered how Derek put up with someone who grinned maniacally all the time. It was horrible.

    “I know we’re not friends, sir,” Gregson said, “but you know we’re sort of friends anyway, right?”

    Stiles narrowed his eyes and stared at her like she had lost it.

    Spade stepped in again, “She means to say a lot of our lives suck in the same way, and it’d be a shame to lose entirely the only people who understand. And also the people most likely to help defend us if Watchtower comes for us again.”

    Stiles jabbed a finger in Derek’s face. “It _is_ a fucking support group.”

    Derek nodded, still grinning.

    “I don’t need—”

    “I do,” Cat cut in. “I need them. So do you.”

    “If it helps, sir, this is literally the only meeting,” Gregson said. “Unless you don’t want it to be. Not all of us are leaving.”

    “I’ve got nowhere better to be,” Dumbo added.

    They all looked at him expectantly.

    “Stiles,” Derek said.

    “What?”

    “Stiles.”

    Because he name was admonishment enough, obviously. Stiles sighed. He knew what Derek wanted. “Why am I so important to the meeting anyway? What do you all need me for?”

    Derek dropped his forehead into his hand too dramatically, so Stiles ignored him and waited for someone else to answer.

    Cat marched across the room and planted herself in front of his shitty folding chair. “You are their leader,” she said. “They don’t want to be soldiers anymore, but that doesn’t mean they don’t still respect you and want to follow you. And you are treating them like shit right now.”

    Stiles winced. He supposed he’d earned that. “Sorry. It’s just that the donuts were a bit much.”

    When Gregson smiled, Stiles figured that meant he was in the clear. He tried to smile back. It worked better than expected.

 

**~.x.~**

“Do you want to get matching tattoos?” Stiles asked. He and Derek were walking through town, just taking a walk to practice being out in public with strangers around, and they were nearing Trick’s tattoo parlor.

               “Really?”

               “It’s just I have three out of four suits, and even though I’m not doing the Joker thing, it just feels unfinished. And Allison suggested maybe using the heart for communication. And I thought, even without that, maybe it could just be the cheesy kind of heart and be for you. And it was a stupid idea, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”

               “It’s not stupid.” Derek took Stiles hand and squeezed it. “How would you communicate with a tattoo?”

               “I don’t know. Maybe you could feel pressure when one of the two touched it. Or write words in one that shows up in the matching tattoo. That sounds kind of advanced though. I don’t know if you could do that with just a regular talisman.”

               “You stun people long enough to kill them with ‘just a regular talisman.’”

               “You’re right.”

               “Besides, that sounds cool.”

               “So you’d do it?”

               “If you think it would work.”

               Stiles grinned. “Yeah, I—we can ask my artist. Right now if you want. Their shop is right over there.”

               Derek narrowed his eyes for a moment before apparently deciding Stiles hadn’t planned this. Or at least that it didn’t matter if he did.

               “You again,” Trick said the instant Stiles walked inside. They’d re-dyed their hair a fiery orange since he saw them last. “Who’s your friend?”

               “This is Derek.”

               “Ohh.” Trick grinned.

               “Derek, this is Trick.”

               Derek nodded his head.

               Trick suddenly narrowed their eyes and stormed across the shop to push Stiles’ face to the side. “And who the hell did this?”

               “She’s in supernatural prison now, and I promise it was without my permission. I would never cheat on my favorite tattoo artist like that.”

               “Pft, as if any other artist could put up with you. What are you in for today?”

               “Would it be possible to link tattoos on two different people so that they could write messages inside the tattoo to each other.”

               “Damn, but you’ve been spoiled by my knowing even a tiny bit about magic.”

               “Does that mean you don’t know?”

               “It means you’re lucky I took to researching after realizing you were a problem that won’t go away because yes, if you can supply the juice, I can make the magic mark.”

               Stiles grinned at Derek who smiled back, though more reserved around a stranger than he might have been alone. “You’re sure?” Stiles asked. “They’re sort of permanent.”

               “I know. I’m sure, but I have an extra question for Trick. I’m a werewolf. Do you know what that means for tattoos?”

               Trick shook their head no.

               “It will heal over, and I can only make it permanent by having it burned into me. Alphas usually do it because they’re the ones who can see the healed tattoo.”

               “Damn, that’s hardcore. If you’re asking if that’ll keep the magic from working, I think the answer is it’ll be fine. If you’re asking if I can take a blowtorch to your skin, the answer is I seriously hope you have an alpha.”

               “We have an alpha.”

               “Good. I’m guessing you want hearts?”

               Stiles nodded and pointed to his upper forearm. “Here?”

               “Sure,” Derek said.

               “I think we’d just need a plain black outline so we can fill in whatever words we send.”

               Derek nodded.

               “Symbolic or anatomical hearts?” Trick asked.

               “The one on the playing card, dumbass. I don’t need an anatomically correct heart spouting words at me, that’d be creepy.”

               Derek chuckled.

               “Also this asshole would find a way to make it more creepy through word choice.”

               “I would.”

               “Gotcha. Two boring-ass heart outlines coming up. Stiles, you first.”

               Stiles took his seat with a groan. He hated this part. But Derek held his hand, and that made it a little better.

**~.x.~**

Allison and Lydia were plotting something, but so was Stiles, so he figured he should let them off the hook. Except that he was in a Macy’s holding about fourteen dresses while Lydia tried on six more. Apparently his role was very important because the fitting rooms here had a limit of six items per person. Derek was not there, even though he and Stiles had started dating (Stiles felt a thrill near to giggling at that thought). Isaac was not there even though he and Allison had finally made their thing official. Jordan, a deputy at the station and also apparently Lydia’s boyfriend since about three months after she stopped being jailbait, was equally not present. Stiles would have been offended no one told him about Lydia and Jordan except that Derek insisted someone had, and Gregson nodded sagely and mentioned his tendency to never listen when people talked to him.

               “Stiles, are you listening to me?”

               “Oh, no.” He hadn’t noticed Lydia leave her fitting room.

               “I asked if this dress makes my face look too red.”

               “The dress doesn’t touch your face.”

               “The color reflects on it, genius. Ugh. I need Allison.”

               “Just a second,” Allison called from behind the door of her own fitting room. Then she popped her head out and studied Lydia seriously. “You look beautiful.”

               “You say that no matter what I’m wearing.”

               “Well, it’s true no matter what you’re wearing. Can you help with this zipper? This dress keeps falling down, and I can’t reach it.”

               They tried on roughly the entire store between them and made Stiles put each dress away once they realized the way he desperately memorized his surroundings in case of mortal combat meant he also knew exactly where each dress belonged. Allison said he was helping the poor Macy’s employees _so much_ by giving them a hand with this. Lydia nodded emphatically with that glint in her eye that said they hadn’t even reached the plot yet. This was just to soften him up.

               “You’ve been so much help today,” Allison said when the girls had finally decided on only three things between them: the red dress and a scarf for Lydia and a coat for Allison. “I think we should return the favor.”

               Uh oh. The plot was called a favor. That couldn’t end well.

               “Oh,” Lydia said as though she’d only just thought of it, “don’t you have a date with Derek this weekend?”

               Stiles nodded, eyes narrow.

               “Well, why don’t we get you something nice to wear since we’re already here. On me.” She gave him her most winning smile.

               “I don’t—”

               “Oh don’t feel bad. You’ve really earned it after putting up with me shopping for a whole day.”

               “That’s not—”

               “No, really,” Allison interrupted this time. “ _I’m_ hard to shop with, but you helped Lydia for _hours._ You deserve a treat, and I bet Derek would love to see you in something nice.”

               Stiles sighed. He’d lost this round. He would continue to lose every round. He remembered the time he’d had an attack at the mall and almost prayed for that except it felt so much better not to be panicked all the time. “Thanks,” he said, knowing he would be expected to go along with the act that this was all a great favor to him.

               So he spent the next _two hours_ trying on clothes and constantly being told the ones he picked out for himself didn’t fit right and being forced to put on smaller sizes of perfectly good garments. The only thing that made it better was that Derek had drawn a smiley face with fangs and red heart-eyes in his heart, and Stiles could see it every time he changed shirts. Which was a lot.  

               “These pants are too tight.”

               Lydia said, “I’m sure they’re fine. Come on out.”

               “I can barely move.”

               “Can you sit?”

               “Yes.”

               “Can you walk?”

               “Yes.”

               “Then walk your butt out here because they’re fine.”

               Stiles gave in _again._ Lydia and Allison cooed over how absolutely adorable he was and how much Derek would just love those pants and they way they hugged his... assets. Lydia even winked when she said it. Stiles made a face, but they ignored it and handed him something else to try on and parade for them.

               “So,” Stiles said when he was sure they were sure they had him well and truly beaten since they’d given him a waistcoat as bright as Lydia’s new dress. “Allison, do you know if your dad’s looking for any of the surviving Watchtower leaders?”

               Watchtower had been investigated and officially condemned for its crimes. Several of the facilities had been shut down by the FBI, and Stiles was certain the FBI knew what had gone on there even if the news reports didn’t seem to have a clue. Three of the board members—John Mortimer, Cormac Flynn, and Delilah Keynes—had even been arrested. But that left the rest of the board and faction leaders free.

               “He’s only interested in Kate right now. Sorry.”

               Stiles nodded. “No, that makes sense.” Kate Argent had gotten away too. Of course Chris would focus on hunting down his evil werejaguar sister who came back from the dead.

               “He talked to some hunters a while back who were after the members of the board who accepted the bite.” Brenna Dorian and Yukio Jackson. Stiles wasn’t sure who they had bonded, if anyone.

               Stiles nodded. It was something.

               But it wasn’t Haha, No.

**~.x.~**

This was their fifth date. Ever. Derek and Stiles hadn’t gone on dates before; they’d just been together. Stiles grinned, the happy kind of grin. This was their fifth date. It was an overpriced Italian restaurant with dim mood lighting and a flickering candle on every table. Derek winced when Stiles mispronounced the name of his meal but held Stiles’ hand across the table as they waited for their food to arrive.

               “Sorry I was an ass for so long,” Derek said.

               “Sorry I was an ass for longer.”

               “Assery is not a competition, Stiles.”

               Stiles snorted. “You said ‘assery.’ And for the record, you’re forgiven. I deserved it.”

               “No you didn’t.”

               “I deserved at least some of it.”

               “Maybe a little.” Derek smirked, and rubbed his free hand against his thigh the way that meant he was a bashful smartass. “But I forgave you a while ago.”

               “I...” Stiles didn’t really want to talk about heavy past stuff, but Derek had started it. “I believed it, at the time, that I broke the bond because Ha—Sorokin wouldn’t believe anything else.”

               “I know.”

               “But I broke it to push you away. Our original plan would have worked fine.”

               “I know.” Derek looked down at their hands for a moment. “I’m ready to reform it if you are.”

               “Really? I’m—are you sure? I don’t want you to think I just want to have telepathic sex again. If we bond, I want it to be because you want it. Otherwise it’ll just end up like last time anyway. The issues, not the breaking. I wouldn’t do that again.”

               “You talk too much. I’m sure.”

               “Well, you talk not enough.”

               Derek smirked as their server arrived with their dinner. “After dinner then?”

               Stiles nodded.

               Once their server was out of earshot, Derek added, “But we’re not having telepathic sex tonight.”

               “No, I wasn’t saying that w—”

               “I know.”

               Stiles gave Derek an exaggerated frown and shoved as much of his meal into his mouth at once as he could. It was delicious, despite Derek’s smartass comment about eating too fast to enjoy it. Not that Derek finished long after Stiles at all.

               They decided it should be somewhere special, so Stiles took Derek back to the park bench where they’d met after trying to heal separately instead of together. They sat together on the same sides they had well over a year before with their legs touching and held hands over their knees.

               “I love you,” Derek said, reaching out to Stiles in a real offer for the first time since their bond broke.

               “I love you too.” Stiles accepted him, and they were bound.

               It was different. Stiles felt that straight away. Derek did too. Good. They’d needed something different, something less destructive. He still sensed Derek’s thoughts and emotions, but they felt distinctly Derek’s rather than dissolving together with Stiles’. Derek smiled and kissed Stiles’ temple. They sat together on the bench enjoying the feel of being together again and, for once, at peace.

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this awesome plan for Stiles to turn the Watchtower into a sort of supernatural prison, but then season 4 revealed they already have one in Eichen House. So... just picture me doing the mountain ash fist shake with Jeff’s name.   
>  I failed in my mission to finish my original novel before starting this. I’m 38K in, so it’s about as long as this, but maybe three-quarters done. I just love writing Stiles too much.   
>  I’ve only got a couple scattered ideas of things I haven’t addressed yet in terms of what to do for the next story, so I wouldn’t expect it soon. On the plus side, I can finally clean all the Watchtower notes off my desk for a while. It is a mess. I use paper and pen to organize my thoughts, and then it winds up looking as muddled as my brain anyway.   
>  I hope you like this! I know I took forever to get Stiles and Derek back together, but I wanted to do it right this time. I also hope you don’t mind the ever-growing cast of OCs. :P But I love them all and they’re important to the story, so I guess I don’t regret them either way.   
>  Thank you to everyone who read, kudo’d, and commented. Double thank you to Chiomi for betaing.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Rain on the Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10519215) by [readbythilia (thilia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilia/pseuds/readbythilia)




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